The Only One
by Terp4Life
Summary: Jane has been keeping the secret of what happened with Oscar for weeks already. She thought she could handle it alone, but Kurt isn't fooled. He knows that something is going on. (I know it won't happen anything like this on tv, but it was a lot of fun to imagine it and write it!)
1. Guilty

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: I meant for this to be a one shot... but apparently Jane and Kurt had other plans. :)_

Jane sat and stared at the sad little Christmas tree on the counter of her safe house. _My house_ , she corrected herself. She had told herself that she needed to stop calling it a safe house. It implied that she was in hiding, and she didn't like to think of herself that way… even if it might be true.

She didn't even know how long she'd been sitting on the bar stool, pushed to one end of the counter, with her chin in her left hand, propped up by her elbow against the countertop, staring at the miniature version of a Christmas tree that Patterson had brought her the day before. It had been really nice of her, a gesture of friendship and an attempt to brighten up her place. The thought that Patterson was trying to cheer _her_ up seemed ridiculous. Patterson had just lost David only a few weeks ago. How was she doing it, keeping herself together? And why would she choose to comfort Jane, of all people? After all, she was the one who was responsible for David's death.

Everyone had spent the past few weeks telling her that it wasn't true, but it didn't seem to help. She _knew_ it was the truth, and there was nothing anyone could say to convince her otherwise. Without her tattoos, David never would have put himself in danger. Weller had been trying his hardest to get through to her on that particular point, she knew. She'd been on the receiving end of a lot more of his intense looks than usual, which was saying a lot, and he'd made a point to try to keep her company outside of work a lot more often too. Nothing he could say would convince her though, because she knew something that he didn't. She had done this to herself, so it really _was_ her fault that David was dead. She wasn't just feeling guilty. She _was_ guilty.

As much as she would have loved so much of Weller's attention only a few weeks ago, of course, now it only seemed to make things harder. Every time she saw him, or any of them, she had to lie to him. No, she didn't have to, she had _chosen_ to lie to them. Ever since that night – that night when she had felt, for two whole minutes – like she was figuring things out, like something in her life was working – that night when she had decided to kiss Kurt, and had immediately known that her decision had been the right one… in her short collection of memories, nothing had ever felt even close to as right as that kiss had.

And then had come the men who'd taken her in the van, and Carter… waterboarding… Oscar… and that girl… that girl with her face and her voice who was _not_ her. _Couldn't_ be her. Except that she _was_ her. That girl had told her that _she_ had been the one who had done all of this… and her world, the one that she had so carefully built around the empty shell of a woman – a woman who had started from nothing but a collection of tattoos that earned her disgusted stares almost wherever she went – that was when her world had shattered into a million pieces.

Oscar had told her that she couldn't tell them. Everything in her told her that she _had to_ tell them. So why hadn't she? She'd told them _some_ of the truth, yes, only as much as she could without having to divulge the fact that Oscar was the man from her memories, or anything about the video. She wanted desperately to think that they would understand – that _he_ would understand – but she was terrified that he wouldn't. She was a coward, she knew, for thinking this way. After all, in the short life she could remember, she had always tried to do the right thing, to get Weller to do the right thing.

Weller had even commented on this fact when she'd been feeling conflicted about the memories she was having about her past. He'd told her that it didn't matter, because she wasn't that person anymore. So then why was she _letting_ herself become that person again? The person who was lying to the only people – the only _person_ – who truly mattered to her. She didn't know, and it made her feel even worse. She'd been trying to sift through her thoughts, telling herself that she _would_ tell him, but so far she hadn't. It had already been weeks, and she'd said nothing. At this point, she told herself, it was as bad as lying. At this point even if she told him, he would never forgive her. How could he? If she were him, she wouldn't forgive her either. She was a liar and a hypocrite and she didn't deserve his forgiveness. And so she kept the secret in tortured silence.

The problem with that was that it was eating her up inside. Everyone had noticed the way she was acting, she knew. Luckily, the ordeal that she had been through before Oscar had killed Carter was real, and she _was_ legitimately traumatized. She let them believe that that was all of it, and they had no reason to suspect otherwise. She wanted to believe that she could handle it, but in reality the weight of her secret was growing heavier every day, and she didn't know how much longer she could go on.

Her phone buzzed on the counter in front of her, and her eyes flicked down to the screen, but she remained otherwise as still as a statue. It was Kurt, she could see from the display. She made no move to answer it, just stared at his name and listened to the buzz, which reverberated against the countertop, making it much louder than it would have been in her hand. When it finally stopped, her eyes flicked back up to the tree in front of her at the other end of the counter.

It was a pre-lit tree, about two feet tall. She hadn't bothered to plug it in, so it sat sadly, its white bulbs unlit. A bag of ornaments sat on the floor below it. Patterson had brought those over as well, but Jane couldn't bring herself to even look at them. Her friend's attempts to help her just made her feel worse. She was betraying these people, the only people she had in the world, and for what? She didn't even know.

Her phone buzzed just once, a minute later. She had a new voicemail, the box on the screen informed her. She knew that she should answer when he called, because it wouldn't be long before Weller would panic if she didn't. She couldn't blame him, she supposed. After all, she _did_ have a history of sneaking out of her safe house and getting herself into compromising positions… which is how she ended up exactly where she was now. No, she didn't want to go anywhere, she just wanted everyone to leave her alone. And since it was Christmas Eve, short of Mayfair calling them all in, which seemed very unlikely, she was exactly where she was going to stay.

She closed her eyes, wishing that she could be somewhere else… or some _one_ else. Someone who had a "normal" life. A family. A job. A house. All that normal stuff that people were supposed to have. All the stuff that she never would. _Stop it_ , she told herself, but she couldn't.

It's not as though she didn't know what she was doing – sitting here and feeling sorry for herself – and she knew that it wasn't helping. She knew that she needed to get up and do _something_ – anything – but she just couldn't make herself budge. Suddenly, she heard the sound of keys jingling and the front door rattling slightly, then she heard it creak open. She wasn't afraid, not really, because she knew that no one would so brazenly get by her security detail in broad daylight. Not without her hearing a commotion outside, anyway. _What does it matter, anyway_? she thought sadly. She couldn't bring herself to care who was just letting themselves into her house without even knocking. Besides, it wasn't really hers, after all. Like everything else she had, it belonged to the FBI. Like she did herself, in many ways.

There was no noise of approaching footsteps, however, and she waited. "Ma'am?" came the voice of Sam, one of the agents on her detail that evening. "Everything alright?" She shook her head. _Of course Weller called them to check on me. This is what I get for sneaking out before, and for not answering my phone._

"I'm fine," she called, still not moving from the stool, her eyes still closed. "Tell Agent Weller I just didn't hear my phone when he called."

"Alright, sorry to bother you, ma'am," Sam replied. She heard the door close and the lock turn again, and she let out a sigh. She understood the reason for Kurt's concern, she really did, but it annoyed her to no end. _Why can't he just leave me alone already?_ she wondered once again. She knew that it wasn't going to happen, and yet, she just didn't want to face him. She knew that he knew that she was doing just that, so it was silly, really, because it was only a matter of time before everything came out…

Except that it couldn't. She couldn't tell any of them. Not yet, at least. Oscar had said that she'd have the answers in time, but that she couldn't trust the FBI.

 _That's not true and you know it,_ the voice in her head replied immediately. _Now you're trusting Oscar, who you know nothing about, over_ _ **Weller**_ _?_

She'd had this conversation with herself a million times, and it ended the same way every time. Every single time she tried to convince herself that she was being stupid for betraying the one person she never wanted to hurt, she ended with the same conclusion: _it's my own fault. He'll never forgive me, even if I don't even know what I've done. I knew it before I did it, and I did it, for whatever reason._

She knew that it made her a coward, but she simply could not bear the thought of the look in his eyes when he realized that it had been her all along. The betrayal that she would see there was simply too much. She already saw it every time she looked at herself in the mirror. She couldn't take that look from the team, after working so hard to win their trust. From _Kurt_ , the one who… that was it, really. That's what he was. The one. She didn't need to know many people to know that much. And that was what made this a thousand times worse.

If she could have run away, simply disappeared from it all, she would have. But since that wasn't an option, she was pushing him away as hard as she could, just stalling and wishing for something to happen, something that would either fix the situation or take the control out of her hands and blow it all to hell, because she couldn't stand to be the one to do it, even though the waiting was pure agony.

She didn't know how long she'd been sitting on that stool, her eyes closed. The familiar pain in her chest was back. The more she sat and let her thoughts go like this, the more it made her chest hurt. She opened her eyes and faced the empty Christmas tree, wishing that all of this was different. That _she_ was different.

…

Kurt pulled the SUV up in front of Jane's safe house. She'd been avoiding him for weeks now, he knew, but in the past few days it had been far worse. She'd said that she wanted space after what had happened with Carter, and he wanted to respect that. It stung a little because it had come immediately after the kiss… the kiss that had been like none other he had ever experienced.

He had not been lying when he'd told Jane, when they'd been undercover as husband and wife, that he was choosy. He'd dated here and there, he'd been with different women. Allison had been his most serious relationship, lasting about a year, and even that should have ended long before it had. He could never have explained it, but none of them had ever been the right one. It scared Kurt, but he had realized a while ago, even before Jane had showed up that night and kissed him, that with her… it just felt right. The thing that he'd never felt with anyone else, it was there. It had been a slow realization, jump started, he supposed, by Zapata that day in the woods of Michigan. By the time they were undercover as husband and wife, well, it was hard – no, impossible – to deny it.

Of course, he wasn't about to go screaming it from the rooftops. And their situation was far from ideal. On the contrary, it was extremely complicated. But if there was one thing he had learned in his life, it was how to wait when he had no choice. He'd spent twenty five years looking for Taylor without giving up, after all. If there was meant to be something between himself and Jane, it was not going to take twenty five years. Still, the state of things between them now was agonizing. Whatever was going on now, he was going to find a way to make it better somehow, that much he was sure of. Anyone who knew him knew that when he got something in his head, you did NOT want to be the one standing in his way.

He climbed out of the SUV, determination surging through him along with just a touch of anxiety. There was no way to know how she would take his arrival, of course. There had been so many times when he'd been the only one who'd been able to comfort her, but lately she'd seemed to want nothing to do with him. Still, he trusted his instincts. The voice in his head had reminded him that the last time she'd asked for "room to breathe," it had been what she _thought_ she'd wanted, but she'd been desperately lonely. What she had actually needed was for him not to be objective. She'd needed him to be _there_.

Jane could take care of herself pretty darn well, he knew, but he couldn't help but feel like he knew her better than she knew herself most times. This was one of those times, and he was going to get to the bottom of whatever it was that was going on.

In a few short steps he was at her front door, nodding to her security detail. They'd relayed her message to him, though they'd assured him that they hadn't mentioned him by name or that he'd asked them to check on her, that they'd only asked if she was alright. It didn't matter, he'd been planning to come over anyway. He knocked on the door loudly, stepped back half a step, and waited.


	2. Talk to Me

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: And to think, my original idea for this story was something light and Christmas themed… yeah, that didn't happen, obviously._ _Thanks to everyone for the amazing response to chapter one. I hope you like chapter two just as much._

She heard the loud knock at the door, and she knew right away that it was Kurt. Frozen in place, she felt herself tense up again – even more than she already was – and the ache in her chest only intensified. Her eyes squeezed shut of their own accord, and she imagined herself somewhere else. Anywhere else.

 _I can't do this. I can't._

Her breathing sped up, and her stomach clenched painfully. It was as if all of the individual parts of her were turning on her at the same time. She knew that she should go to the door, let him in… face him… But she found that she just couldn't move.

 _Coward,_ she told herself. It was true. She was terrified.

He knocked loudly on the door, then stepped back and waited. Inside, he heard nothing. No noise to indicate that she was there. Looking over his shoulder at her security detail questioningly, he was greeted with a shrug from both men. "She was there earlier, sir. I opened the door and spoke to her," Sam told him apologetically. Weller nodded at the man and turned back to the door with a frown. Something wasn't right.

He knocked on the door again, harder this time. "Jane!" he called in a loud voice. "I just want to talk to you."

She sat on the stool, her eyes squeezed shut, tears streaking down her cheeks. Not even trying to wipe them away, she felt herself begin to shake. She couldn't do this to him. But she couldn't undo this mess either, the mess that she had gotten herself into.

 _It wasn't_ _ **me**_ , she wanted to scream. Except that it _was_ her. Now on top of everything else, her head was throbbing as well.

When there was still no answer, Weller sighed heavily and took out his set of keys to the safe house. He hated to do this, to use his power this way and just barge in, but this was a part of their complicated situation. He was painfully aware of the imbalance between them – he hadn't thought much about it at first, but she had mentioned it on more than one occasion – that he knew all there was to know about her, and could force himself into her life, her space, when necessary, but that she did not have the same knowledge of or access to him. It wasn't fair, he knew. But then again, life wasn't fair. This was just the way it was. And right now, he needed to know that she was safe.

He opened the door slowly, peering in carefully and looking around before even setting foot inside the door. "Jane?" he called, not quite as loud as he had from behind the closed door. He hoped that it was just that she was sleeping, though it seemed very unlikely. She didn't sleep very much or very well, from what he understood. Besides, it was pretty late in the day for most people to be napping, but too early for them to be in bed for the night. Of course, this was Jane. There was no telling what she was doing.

He stepped further into the house, still not hearing any noise. Now he was getting worried. Ever since she'd been dropped into his life that fateful night in Times Square, he'd been more and more concerned with her well-being, her safety, with each passing day. After the mess with Carter, her safety had become something of an obsession of his. He'd insisted on hanging out with her more in their free time, and it had served multiple purposes. Most importantly, he just liked being around her. It was a strange situation, but they were friends. Besides that, he knew that it was better that she wasn't alone too much. Sure, she needed to process some things, but he knew her. Even when she said she wanted time alone, too much of it could be toxic. She had a bad habit of taking on all the blame for whatever happened, for beating herself up relentlessly.

 _Kinda like someone else I know_ , the voice in his head whispered.

 _Not now_ , he told the voice, as he continued to step quietly into the house. But the voice was right, and that was exactly why he was ignoring what she'd said she wanted. Actually, it wasn't so much that she'd said it, as how she'd been acting. It was obvious that she was avoiding him. He'd never seen her work so hard to avoid being around him, and especially to avoid being alone with him.

"Jane, are you alright?" he called again, concern now very evident in his voice. His hand was on his gun, though he didn't draw it. After everything, he just couldn't be too careful.

She had heard him call her name from outside, heard him open the door and call her again, and now she heard him walking quietly through her safe house. Her _house_ , she reminded herself automatically. Part of her wanted nothing more than for him to wrap his arms around her and tell her that it was going to be alright. Except that that would be a lie, whether or not he knew it at first, because it _wasn't_ going to be alright. How could it? She couldn't see any way this was _not_ going to end with him hating her. _That_ was the main reason she was crying. She squeezed her eyes shut tighter still, tighter than she would have thought possible, until white spots appeared in the darkness that swam in front of her. This extra pressure only made her shake harder. It was only a matter of seconds now, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was in agony, and felt like it was only going to get worse.

For a split second she wished that Oscar hadn't intervened and saved her, that Carter _had_ put her in that hole that he had threatened her with. Then she wouldn't be here, about to hurt someone she cared about so much. _But no_ , she reminded herself _, that would have hurt him too, just in a different way. What do you think it would have done to him to have lost you like that?_

 _And just what do you think will happen when he finds out?_ she demanded of herself. _At least if I were gone, he wouldn't have to hate me, wouldn't have to know that I'd betrayed him._

 _BUT IT WASN'T YOU!_ her mind shrieked, trying to get her to see reason.

 _No, it wasn't._ _ **But it was**_ _._

This last comment from her inner voice was eerily calm when it spoke. It made no sense, but it was the truth. She was the same person who'd done all this… and someone completely different at the same time. Her eyes were still squeezed tightly shut, even though she could hear his voice coming closer, calling her name, and his footsteps in the hall. It was only a matter of seconds now, and she braced herself. It was going to get worse. Not the kind where "it'll get worse before it gets better," either. No, it was going to get worse, and that was all.

Weller came to the doorway of the kitchen and stopped. Through the cut out window by the counter, where he knew that bar stools sat below on the opposite side, he had a partially obscured view of Jane. What he saw left him relieved and anxious at the same time. She was sitting at one end of the counter, facing the other end, which meant that he could see only her profile, but she was _there_. She sat facing a small Christmas tree, most likely the one that Patterson had mentioned that she was going to drop off to her. It sat undecorated and unlit at the other end of the counter. Jane wasn't looking at the tree, however, because he saw that her eyes were squeezed shut and she appeared to be shaking. He could see this even from the door, which concerned him.

"Jane?" his voice came out just above a whisper, his voice suddenly full of concern. _What in the world was wrong?_ He walked into the room slowly, around to the other side of the counter, gradually coming to stand in front of her, but stayed back a few feet. He could feel tension radiating off of her like he'd never felt before, even in all the times she'd been desperately upset. Something told him to hold back, even though his instinct was to go to her and try to comfort her. "Jane," he whispered again, softer this time, and more desperate. It was painful to see her like this.

 _What in the world could be so bad that she's reduced to this state? And what's so bad that she doesn't want to let me help? She's stubborn, yes, but…_ It was hurting him to stand here watching her this way. After everything they'd been through together, after that kiss they'd shared, where everything else in the world besides them had ceased to exist for those few moments… why was she shutting him out?

He was standing in front of her now, a few feet away. She knew it from the sound of his footsteps, and then the sound of his voice, the hint of desperation. She could feel that same intense stare that she had become accustomed to from him, and she knew that he wouldn't stay where he was for very long.

Though they hadn't know each other long, she knew that he was just as stubborn as she was when he felt strongly about something. And she knew him well enough to know that for whatever reason, whether she deserved it or not, _she_ was something that he felt strongly about. _Soon_ , her mind reminded her _, he'll feel strongly about you in a completely different way._ That thought was enough to launch her into a new round of sobs, stronger and louder than what she'd already been crying.

As far as Weller was concerned, enough was enough. Surely she would never expect him to stand by and watch as she fell apart, no matter what was wrong. He took two slow steps forward, not wanting to startle her, but was startled himself when she spoke for the first time since he'd arrived. Her eyes remained closed but her voice came out loud and clear, and it was a voice that he didn't think he'd ever heard come out of her before. Though they'd been angry with each other a few times, even had a few less than friendly disagreements, now there was ice in her voice, and appropriately, he froze in his tracks. This voice wasn't Jane, not the one that he knew.

" _Don't_ ," she warned him in a sharp tone, and he stopped in surprise.

 _What was happening here?_ he wondered.But he didn't heed her warning, instead he took another step forward. He was close enough to reach out to her now, and he extended his hand slowly towards her shoulder. _They could fix this, whatever it was._ He just knew it.

So it came as a shock to him when, as soon as his hand came in contact with her left shoulder, her right hand grabbed his wrist roughly, throwing it off with more force than he would ever have expected. Before he knew what had happened, she had jumped down from the stool and pushed past him roughly, seeming to purposely bump into him with her shoulder – _hard_ – before making her way across the room to the bathroom. Before he could even fully grasp what had happened, she had slammed the door and he heard the lock _click_ behind her.

 _What the hell just happened?_ he wondered in surprise.

He stood there, stunned, for a full minute, blinking and looking at where Jane had been just a moment before. He looked around the room, still in shock, and his eyes slowly followed after her to the bathroom door. There was nothing he could do but walk across the room after her, still confused as hell. He knocked on the door, though he knew that she wasn't going to open it. After all, she'd just slammed the door on him for a reason, though he had no idea what that reason was.

She was breathing hard as she slammed the bathroom door as hard as she could, then locked it. It wasn't that she as angry with him, which was what he would probably think from her reaction… just another thing for her to hate herself for. After the amount of energy she'd expended just from being as tense as she'd been in the past few hours, the effort of moving across the room had exhausted her. She turned her back to the door, and sank quickly to the floor, trying desperately to catch her breath. She felt like she had that first night in her first safe house, after Weller had left, when she'd had her first panic attack – if that was what it had been.

"Jane," he said softly, beginning to feel like a broken record. He listened intently, and from her gasping, quick breathing, a louder version of the same sound that he'd heard from her when she'd been sitting in front of him, he could judge that she was sitting on the floor, probably with her back to the door. Thinking that he wasn't going to get her to open the door anytime soon, he decided that that he may as well sit down too. Sitting down with his back to the door as well, he resolved to figure this out, no matter what it took.

She couldn't tell what he was doing on the other side of the door, because the noise in her head had increased to such a level that all she could hear was the blood rushing between her ears. She felt a slight vibration from behind her and wondered if he was knocking on the door, but she heard nothing, only her own sobs and her own thoughts. She hoped that he'd just give up and go away, just leave her alone… though really, it didn't sound like something that Kurt Weller would do, and especially not when she was in the state that she was. No, he was so stubborn, she wouldn't be surprised if he sat outside that door until she came out.

He just listened for a little while, hearing her breathing very gradually slow down from desperate, heaving sobs to just plain loud breathing, and then eventually, almost back to normal. He looked at his watch, and saw that it had been about an hour since he'd arrived, and almost as long since they'd been sitting on either side of the door. He wondered if she'd fallen asleep in there.

"Jane," he said softly, figuring that he might as well try again now that all signs indicated that she was calmer and quieter. "I'm going to sit here until you talk to me. If you know anything about me, you know that I _will_ stay here until you come out."

She hadn't fallen asleep, but as she shifted in her increasingly uncomfortable position on the tile floor, her back still to the door, her head back and her eyes only now opening, she contemplated just how exhausted the past few hours had left her. She was not going to be able to stay where she was for much longer, and she knew it, though the possibility of sleeping on the threadbare bathmat had occurred to her not too long ago.

"Dammit, Jane," Weller sighed in frustration, "why won't you talk to me? What _changed_?"

Her eyes closed again as she felt the pain in her chest return at full force. _Why was he doing this? Why couldn't he just go away, just let it go? Just understand that it was best if he just left her alone?_

 _He cares about you, stupid_ , the voice in her head told her. _He…_

 _NO!_ she shrieked inside. _Don't say it. It's not true. It's_ _ **not**_ _true!_ Her breathing increased again, and suddenly she was afraid that her panic attack was starting all over again. All at once, the bathroom looked very, very small, and she felt the desperate urge to escape. _No…_ she silently begged. _It'll just make it_ _ **worse**_ _, all of it._

 _But you know it's true,_ the voice said, quietly but insistently.

She shook her head, feeling tears on her cheeks again.

 _He loves you._

She continued to shake her head silently, whispering the word "No," over and over, as tears formed a waterfall down her cheeks. This was the worst thing that could happen, because it would only mean that he would end up hurt that much more when he found out.

Outside the door, Weller had been sitting in almost the same position as Jane, leaned back against the door with his head back, his eyes closed. He may have looked like he was asleep, but he was listening intently for noise on the other side of the door. He heard her soft breathing, then within seconds after he had asked her what changed, he heard her breathing grow faster and more choked, and he knew that her spiraling thoughts had taken her somewhere that she didn't want to go.

He heard something else then, and he couldn't quite make it out. He listened harder, turning and pressing his ear to the door before he could identify the sound. It was almost as though she was chanting in a whisper. But what was she saying? Then suddenly he could hear it. She was repeating one word over and over again – the word "no."

There had to be a damn good reason she was doing this to herself, but he couldn't for the life of him imagine what it was. All he knew was that he had to do something. He couldn't let her go on like this, torturing herself, no matter what the reason. And just like that, he'd had enough. He didn't know why he hadn't thought of it sooner.

"Jane," he said softly but firmly, "you and I both know that I can pick that lock and be in there in under ten seconds. I don't know what's wrong, I don't know what happened, but you have to talk to me. _You have to_. I've tried giving you space, and it's not helping. I don't know why you're pushing me away. But I'm just as stubborn as you are, and I'm not going to let it go." He paused, and then added, "I'm not going to let _you_ go."

She listened to him talk to her from the other side of the door. With every word he said, she felt like she couldn't possibly hurt more, and yet, as he continued talking, with every word he spoke, the pain intensified. She just wished that he would stop, because she couldn't take it anymore. He was right. He could pick the lock easily, and she knew it. Finally it was clear to her – he was not going to let her push him away, no matter how hard she tried. She loved him for it, but it just made it that much more painful.

Sighing heavily, she reached up behind her to the doorknob and turned the lock until it clicked. Then she scooted herself along the wall, away from the door, allowing space for the door to swing open, but not actually opening it for him.

When he finished his little speech, he heard a minute of silence, and then heard her sigh heavily, followed by a slight rustling and then a small click. He smiled just a little, and then stood up, turning to face the door. All of a sudden, he felt slightly anxious. Something was very wrong, and it had to be something big to have her this beside herself.

 _But we've faced it all before. We can do it this time, too._ He couldn't think of _anything_ that would be so bad that they couldn't figure it out.

He took a deep breath, and reached for the doorknob.

 _A/N: Don't kill me for leaving him at the door again… You guys had such an overwhelmingly positive response to chapter one, and I wanted to be able to post this next section today… but I'm about out of writing time for the day, so… I'll try my hardest to get another one up tomorrow. Thank you for reading!_


	3. Agony

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Jane heard Kurt stand up on the other side of the door, heard him take a deep breath before he turned the handle on the bathroom door. In that moment, suddenly, she knew what she would do. It was a coward's way out, but it was the only thing that she could think of that she could actually go through with while still doing the right thing. Because he deserved the truth, even if the truth would shatter everything, and mean that there would be no future for them. So much for the badass that everyone seemed to think she was, she told herself. Soon they would all see her for the coward she really was.

She let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't over, and it still wasn't going to be easy, but at least knowing what she had to do, she felt better. At that point she was so exhausted, she honestly didn't have the energy to fight against herself, and especially not against Weller, any longer. She hugged her knees to her chest tightly, laying her head against her knees. She was just so tired.

Kurt pushed the door open slowly, peering into the room and slowly spotting her on the floor. She had curled herself into a ball against the wall on the right side of the door, and he sank down beside her. Her wounds weren't physical, he could tell, but in some ways this was worse. Physical wounds, well, he knew how to treat a lot of those, and knew how to get her help for the rest of them. The ones in her head, on the other hand… those were far harder to deal with, especially considering that she was so determined to shut him out.

He sank slowly down beside her on the bathroom floor, legs crossed in front of him, sitting in the doorway beside her, but facing her, so that he was looking at her left side. "Jane," he whispered. She didn't respond, didn't move, but her heard her breath catch, and the ache in his heart for whatever it was that she was going through made him wince. He scooted slowly towards her so that his knees touched her leg, not wanting to startle her but wanting to make contact with her. Touch had always been a calming element between the two of them – or, it always had until an hour ago.

But the woman he saw in front of him now, this wasn't the woman who'd locked herself in the bathroom, who'd been pushing him away so desperately. No, the woman in front of him now was the one whose eyes he had looked into so many times and seen so many conflicting emotions. The woman whose soul he was sure that he had seen reflected back at him all those times, along with so much confusion, guilt, pain… and yet so much goodness. He knew her, he _knew_ that he did, as surely as he knew his own name. As surely as her name was tattooed on his back.

Again, very slowly, he reached up with his right hand and placed it gently on her back, slightly below where he knew that his name was tattooed. He felt her stiffen, felt the fierce grip that she had on her knees in front of her tighten, and again his heart hurt for whatever it was that she was doing to herself inside of her head. But he'd made it this far, and there was no force in the universe that was going to stop him from fixing this, whatever it took. He had _always_ been the "whatever it takes" kind of guy, and when it came to Jane, this compulsion was only amplified exponentially. He rubbed small circles on her back, slowly, repeating again and again, and finally worked his way to her right shoulder.

He was rubbing her back, and it took everything in her to keep from leaning into him, from letting him put his arms around her. It was what she wanted most in the world, and yet, that was why she couldn't let him do it. The more she let herself fall right now, the harder it would be to backtrack, to lose it all. And so she worked as hard as she could to keep herself wrapped tightly in a ball, unable to let herself relax for fear that she would break completely. It wouldn't be fair to him.

Feeling more confident that she wasn't going to bolt again, he scooted himself around so that he was almost directly in front of her, then leaned forward and brought his other arm up so that he had both his arms around her, still gently. Leaning forward, he kissed the top of her head, which was facing him, since she was still rolled rightly into a ball, then let his forehead drop and rest against her hair.

It was too much for her. She'd told herself that she could do this, but surely she'd been wrong. She didn't deserve this, any of it. She didn't deserve his kindness, his understanding, and she sure as hell didn't deserve someone who was so gently with her, who cared _so much_. His reward would be that she would break his heart, and she only hated herself more for it.

"Jane," he whispered. "Come back to me." He felt her relax ever so slightly, but then after a brief pause she started to shake, a little at first, then harder and harder, her breath coming faster and more raggedly. It took him a minute to realize that even though she was barely making a sound, she was crying. Not just crying. The reason she wasn't making any sound, it appeared, was because she was fighting so hard against whatever was happening in her head, that no noise would come out. She was breaking his heart yet again, and all he could do was to pull his arms around her more tightly and rock her gently from side to side. Again he wondered what in the world could be hurting her this much.

The silent sobs overtook her as she thought more and more about what she had done, what she was going to do, and for a minute she forgot where she was, hearing only the blood rushing in her ears and her own cries.

It seemed like hours that they sat that way, but eventually he felt the shaking slow down, her breathing even out, and the he felt her relax, gradually leaning into him more and more and pulling herself into a ball wrapped around her knees less and less. Though he was growing stiff from sitting this way so long, he didn't even think about letting her go. He hated to see her in so much pain, but in another situation, if he wasn't so worried about her, sitting here and holding onto her for this long would have been something that he would have enjoyed immensely… despite the fact that he'd _never_ had the desire to do anything like that before for anyone else. Just like in almost every other way, she was the only one.

He decided to try again. "Jane," he whispered. It almost felt like the only word he'd said all night, except for the little speech he'd given from behind the door about not letting her go. He felt her sigh, and he lifted his head off of hers, looked down at her and just waited, rubbing circles on her back with both hands. Finally, he felt like he was getting somewhere. He heard and felt her sigh heavily again after a long few minutes, and then ever so slowly, she lifted her head from her knees.

Her head felt heavy and her mind was in a fog. However, she had become aware of the fact that she couldn't stay where she was forever. Eventually, she was going to have to get off the floor. She'd heard Weller whisper her name, heard the hint of desperation there, and felt horrible for confusing his so badly… though not as completely awful as she did for how she was still going to hurt him. Still, as awful as she felt, she couldn't deny how good it felt where she was right now, with his arms around her. She knew that it only showed how weak she was, but she couldn't help but let herself enjoy it, if only for a few seconds. She sighed, then, with great effort she lifted her head slowly, staring straight ahead.

She looked like hell, exactly as he would have expected her to look considering what she'd been putting herself through this evening. Her face was paler than usual, splotched liberally with red, and the area around her eyes was puffy from crying. Her eyes were about as bloodshot as any he'd ever seen, his own included, which was really saying something.

And yet, he thought, she had never looked more beautiful.

He stared directly into her eyes, that same intense stare that he usually gave her, even when things were fine, but magnified at least a hundred times and laced heavily with worry. She didn't look at him at first, just stared at his jacket straight ahead of her. It took another minute or so, but eventually her eyes flicked up to his, and the swirl of conflicted emotions in them took his breath away. He wished he could fix whatever it was that was doing this to her. He hoped that she would let him try.

He smiled ever so slightly at her, hoping to build on the slow progress that he felt like he was making. "Hey," he whispered. He moved his right hand to her the side of her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb but keeping his face where it was, watching her intently. She didn't smile at him, only held his gaze, but he could feel her lean ever so slightly into his hand, so slightly that he didn't see the difference, even as close as he was. He only felt it. She looked into his eyes and then suddenly looked like she'd seen something that scared her, and she looked away. , he continued to stroke her cheek with his thumb, trying to remain steady and reassuring to get her through whatever it was that was happening inside her head.

Then, just when he thought he had made a breakthrough, she squeezed her eyes shut and started to shake her head quickly. However, he held her face firmly in his hand, stilling his thumb's movement and holding on gently but securely. "Shhhhh…" he whispered. "It's going to be ok." His words apparently had the opposite effect that they were intended to, however, because it was almost as though something in her broke then, and suddenly she started crying again before his eyes. Within a few seconds the tears were coming again at full force, gushing down her cheeks.

Kurt sighed sadly, shaking his head at the unfairness of life that someone who had already lost everything, someone as kind and strong as Jane, should have to be reduced to such a state by the demons in her head. Then, using both arms, one around her lower back and one that he threaded under her knees, he lifted her up into his lap so that she was sitting sideways in front of him, pulling her close until her head was leaning on his chest.

He had pulled her to him, which she would have fought against if she hadn't been so completely, helplessly exhausted, both mentally and physically. However, now that she was sitting there, listening to his heartbeat and feeling his arms around her, part of her couldn't help but relax slightly, despite the fact that it was exactly what she'd been fighting so hard against. It was too perfect, and would only make things harder when they fell apart. What she wouldn't give for things to be different, to be exactly where she was, but under better circumstances. To be in his arms, and _not_ to be about to break his heart. Just that thought alone was already breaking hers. She wanted nothing more than to spare him the agony that she was feeling, and yet, there was nothing she could do about it, which made it hurt even worse.

He still had no idea what this was about, but it didn't really matter. He knew about losing what mattered most, knew how painful that was, and even if it wasn't the same thing, he understood about extreme emotional turmoil. Hell, he'd lived with it for most of his life. There was nothing he could do for her but what he was doing, but dammit, he was going to try his hardest. This was too important. _She_ was too important.

Again, they sat there for what felt like hours. He had no concept of time anymore, and had no plans to shift enough to see his watch. That would require him to loosen his grasp on her, and just then that was the last thing he planned to do.

He decided that it was finally time to leave the bathroom floor. They both needed rest, at some point, and the bathroom floor wasn't exactly the place for that. He shifted slightly to get himself ready to stand up while simultaneously holding her, and as he did, her sniffling, which had slowed down but not yet stopped, changed when she inhaled sharply and looked up at him for the first time in quite a while.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "I think it's about time he get off this floor," he told her softly. She nodded weakly, but otherwise didn't change her facial expression, didn't even try to move. He was glad, because he would have fought any efforts on her part to get up on her own. He was not ready to loosen his grasp on her any time soon. Slowly and carefully, he pushed himself up to stand, without the benefit of having his hands free to push up with. Luckily, his job required him to stay in very good shape, so he managed it without too much trouble, keeping a tight hold on Jane, who leaned back into his chest exhaustedly.

She had no memory of every having been carried by anyone, of course, since it doesn't happen too often to most adults, and she didn't remember her childhood. Leaning against him, she realized in surprise how much she liked being where she was right now, despite her lack of control of the situation. This, of course, only made her heart ache all over again, made her breath catch, and made her body begin to tense up anew.

Weller was just turning to fit them both through the doorway, slowly and carefully, to leave the bathroom, when he felt her whole body stiffen, heard the change in her breathing. He stopped just outside the doorway, leaned his face down to the top of her head, and once again placed a kiss in her hair. "Sshhhhh…" he whispered again, holding on tight, and began walking toward her bedroom. What Jane needed was sleep. She had undoubtedly drained what little energy she'd had long ago, and she was going to make herself delirious with both exhaustion and the effort of dealing with whatever was going on in her head.

Jane opened her eyes when she felt them stop moving, realizing that they were standing beside her bed. She hadn't realized they'd even left the living room. She felt Weller maneuver slightly to pull back the covers, then he crouched down and gently, reluctantly, she thought, allowed her to sink into the soft mattress. After hours on the bathroom floor, her bed felt like the softest thing she'd ever experienced.

He put her down in her bed, and she suddenly didn't have his arms around her, a feeling that she didn't like. Without thinking, she reached out and grabbed his hand before he could stand back up again. She didn't know why she did it. Holding onto him in any way was only going to make things worse, she knew. And yet, she couldn't stop herself. This was her last chance to do this, to have him close, and she was going to take every bit of it that she could so that she had something to remember, even though it would only make things harder.

He smiled when she grabbed his hand and held it tightly. It was the first sign that she'd given him that she was in there somewhere, behind all that torment. He squeezed back, then leaned down and covered her with the blankets, before leaning closer still and whispering almost directly into her ear. "I'm just going to get you some water. I'm _not_ leaving you." It seemed to take her a few seconds to process this, but she gradually loosened her grip on his hand, slowly releasing him and immediately feeling the loss of contact acutely. It was almost a physical ache, and she felt herself spiraling into darkness again. How was she going to be able to do this?

That was when the voice in her head spoke to her coldly, mercilessly. _You have no choice_ , she told herself again. _You will tell him, and it will be agony for both of you, and he'll hate you and probably never speak to you again. He'll probably send you away somewhere, maybe somewhere worse than the hole that Carter wanted to put you in, so that he never has to look at you again. So enjoy this pain you're feeling now, because this is_ _ **nothing**_ _compared to what's coming._

Every muscle in her body contracted, and she felt herself begin shaking again, completely against her will. Her eyes squeezed shut and lost touch with the world around her. She was now in a much more comfortable place than she had been on the bathroom floor, but it could have been the same place for all she knew. Her senses were no longer taking in new information.

Kurt had left the room for a minute, two at the most, to locate a glass and fill it with cool water, and when he returned, he saw that she'd spiraled back into herself again. He set the glass on the table beside her bed, and then crouched down in front of her, putting his hand on her shoulder, which was shaking uncontrollably. "Jane," he said yet again, knowing that he had to compete with the noise in her head, and that it was very likely that she wouldn't hear him at all. He felt tears in his own eyes this time, a very rare occurrence for him. Whatever was happening, it was becoming more and more painful to watch.

Realizing she wasn't going to hear him, he walked around to the other side of the bed without hesitation, hoping that what he was going to do wasn't going to be considered over the line, considering the point they were at. They had kissed once. They had held hands, danced close to each other and pretended to be married, but that was it. And yet, that _wasn't_ it _._ What was between them, what had been between them for so long now, was somehow so much more than that. So though maybe it should have felt awkward as he stood on the far side of her bed and moved the covers out of the way so that he could crawl in behind where she lay, now curled back into herself on her right side, shaking all over again, maybe he should have felt awkward about putting the covers back over them, about moving himself up against her back and threading his arm around her, holding her tightly… Maybe he should have, but he didn't. The only thing he knew was that no force under the sun was going to convince him to leave her like this. It didn't matter what was wrong, he was where he was going to stay. He knew this with absolute certainty.

She realized that she'd lost it again, but only afterwards, when her senses began to fade back in, to accept information about the world around her. She was aware of the pillow under her cheek, aware that there was a blanket over her, aware that she was laying on her side and looking out at her bedroom. Then she suddenly remembered everything else all over again, and she gasped quickly, afraid that it was all about to start over. It seemed like the more exhausted she became, the less it took to set her off. She was surprised, then, to feel an arm tighten around her, and Weller's voice in her ear.

"Welcome back," he whispered. And then, more urgently, "stay with me, Jane. It's gonna be okay." He tightened his grasp on her again, wishing there was something else he could do, hoping that she could hear him, that he could get through to her.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to exhale evenly, feeling her panic abating slowly. Despite everything, everything that had happened, everything that she knew, the fact that her heart was broken and the fact that she was about to break the heart of the man she cared most about in the world… for once, she allowed herself the luxury of the moment she was in, however bittersweet it was. Though she could not make the pain in her heart go away, she could at least enjoy her last few minutes of happiness.

Nodding and leaning back into his embrace, she sighed sadly. She felt him plant a gentle kiss on her shoulder, and then lay his head down right behind hers, so that his breath tickled her neck. Smiling sadly, she found his hand at the end of the arm that was wound around her, threading their fingers together and squeezed it gently. This was just further proof that what she was going to do was the right decision. There was no way she could look into his eyes and tell him what she needed to tell him. That she had betrayed him. But it had to be done.

She laid there, her eyes open, holding on tightly and feeling Kurt holding on to her. She was now wide awake, determined not to sleep, not to miss a minute of where she was, knowing that she wouldn't get this chance again. Laying there sadly, she was determined not to let herself cry anymore. There had been far too much of that already tonight, and she hoped that she had cried all of her tears, that she had none left.

Jane sighed, felt his grasp slowly relaxing around her waist as he slipped into sleep. As much as she didn't want to, she had to work herself out of his grasp, never mind that she could have stayed there quite happily forever. Sadly, forever wasn't an option for her, or for them.


	4. Gone

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: When I sit down to write, I usually only have a very vague idea, if any, of what's going to happen. My fanfic chapters sometimes take a lot of effort to get them written, and then there's some, like this one, that seem to just flow through my fingers onto the keyboard as if someone turned on a faucet. Thanks to everyone who's written me such kind reviews so far. I hope that all of you are having a_ _ **much**_ _better Christmas Day than Weller, because not to give anything away, but his day is kind of going to suck._

She walked silently to the doorway of her bedroom one more time, leaned her head and her right shoulder against the doorframe and watched him sleep. It wasn't fair… it wasn't right, what that other woman had done to her. The other her. In less than a minute, she had taken _everything_ from her. Jane hadn't had much, but she had taken all of it. Still, the only part of this whole mess that she really agonized over was that she had taken the _person_ who mattered most to her. And for what? She had no idea.

She hoped that there was a very good reason for all this, and she hoped that she would eventually know what it was. Maybe the FBI would be able to figure it out, even without her there. They didn't need her, after all. Not _really._ They'd long since imaged every one of her tattoos. That's what she had been to them, in the end. A messenger. Well, her message was delivered. Staying here now, she was only going to cause them problems, cause the team strife and distrust. She hoped that this whole mess would hurt him less this way, less than it would if she'd told him in person. She'd never wanted to hurt him at all. The pain in her chest returned and she the tears gathered in her eyes.

Right now, all she could do was to hope that someday, somehow, he would find a way to forgive her. She didn't know if that would be possible, though, because just then she wasn't even sure she'd find a way to forgive _herself_.

Her eyes squeezed shut as once again, her breath caught when she looked at him. He had been through so much already – because of her. But _had_ it all been because of her? Was she _really_ Taylor Shaw? They'd told her that she was, that the DNA test proved it, but she had never really known whether to believe it. Taylor Shaw was a girl she heard stories about. She was a girl who didn't exist anymore. No, it didn't matter now whether she had been Taylor.

 _Whoever_ she'd been, whether or not she'd been that little girl in another life, the one that Weller had agonized over for the past twenty five years… it just didn't matter, because now, she would be no one to him. Worse than no one, she would be the one he hated, the one who left a scar on his heart that, after everything else he'd been through, was probably never going to heal. She wasn't trying to make more of herself or her importance to him than she should, to be arrogant about her importance to him. It was just that she knew the way he looked at her, and though she'd never let herself believe it, she realized now what that look had been. She exhaled raggedly as she summoned his face in her head, saw the look again. She saw it then. _Devotion… dare she even say it? Love?_

She opened her eyes and looked at him again. Standing here in front of him… it was killing her. She hoped that she wasn't going to be his new reason to be broken, though she had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that that was exactly what she would become when the sun came up. A few stray tears slid down her cheeks, and she wiped them away quickly with her fingertips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered almost silently as she looked at him one more time. Then she forced herself to turn around and walk away, slipped out the same back window that she'd used when she'd slipped away from her security detail in the past, and disappeared into the darkness.

…

When Weller woke up, he was momentarily completely disoriented. _Where the hell was he?_ He sat up quickly, looked out the window at the dim light coming through the curtains, realizing that it was early morning – 4:30 am, according to the clock – and that he was at Jane's house. _And that he was there alone._

And then all of the events of the night before came back to him. Cursing under his breath, he jumped up quickly, as if his life depended on it.

He jumped from the bed so fast, he almost tripped over his own feet. _No, no, no, no, no…_ he repeated the word like a mantra as he checked the bathroom, followed by every other room and closet in the house. Of course, there was no sign of Jane. Somehow as soon as he'd woken up and found her not beside him, he'd known that he wasn't going to find her anywhere in the house, that she was gone. _Again_. He felt bottom falling out of his stomach and every muscle in his body contracting with so many conflicting emotions, he couldn't even identify them all, much less process them.

He strode through the kitchen, his steps momentarily coming to a stop as he tried to collect his racing thoughts. He knew that he had to decide on his next move, but it was hard to think all of a sudden, almost like he was trying to see through a thick fog that had suddenly descended in his head. This was unfamiliar territory for him. He'd always been able to be level headed and calm, even in situations where everyone else was losing control of their emotions. His eyes darted around the room frantically. _This was not happening. It had to be a bad dream._

He looked down at the counter in front of the stool where he'd found her sitting the night before. He had a flashback to only a few weeks before, when he'd almost lost her because he was stupid enough to let her walk home alone. That kiss had left his brain completely wiped of all other thoughts, and he'd almost paid the ultimate price for it. And now, again, somehow she was gone. He stared into nothingness in front of him, trying to catch his breath despite the fact that he was doing nothing but standing still.

Then suddenly, something caught his eye. A folded piece of paper, on which she'd written, simply, "Kurt" lay on the counter.

Something in the pit of his stomach told him that this was very, very bad. He reached for the paper with apprehension, picking it up gently, unfolding it as if he was afraid that it would disintegrate between his fingers. He dreaded unfolding the paper because he was afraid that whatever was contained in this note was going to have that very effect on _him_. Thanks to his extensive training, Special Agent Kurt Weller feared very few things, but at that moment, he was very much afraid. Ever since he'd met her, it seemed that Jane had always been the exception to every rule.

He sat down on the stool just where she'd left it, and found himself facing the naked Christmas tree that Patterson had brought to Jane. _It's not necessarily something terrible_ , he tried to tell himself, but deep down her knew better. He knew _her_ , after all, and if she couldn't tell him whatever this was face to face, then it was far more serious that just "something bad." Jane was no coward. She was one of the strongest people he knew. Didn't she _know_ that? Had he not told her? What other things should he have said to her? If he'd been better about communicating, would she still have left?

 _What could possibly have happened to make her run away like this?_

The knot in his stomach squeezed tighter and tighter, until he couldn't take it anymore. He wanted to know where she'd gone, but the thought of what he would find out made him feel sick. Still, he couldn't continue sitting here, imagining the worst. Finally, he took a deep breath and unfolded the paper, momentarily overwhelmed with the amount of words written on the page, and the fact that there were multiple pages behind it, each equally full. She had had a lot to say, that was for sure. He exhaled slowly and began reading, hearing the words in his head as if Jane was speaking them to him, in her own voice, which made it better and worse at the same time.

 _Kurt –_

 _There are so many things I want to say, and I don't know where to start. I feel like it almost doesn't matter how I start, because in the end, none of it is going to make any difference. I know how it's going to end. But I won't confuse you by starting at the end of the story. I know what your reaction will be, but regardless, I'm going to tell you everything, because it's the right thing to do. Even though it's going to ruin everything between us._

 _It started the night that I kissed you. I don't want you to think that kiss was the reason that any of the terrible things that happened in the past few weeks have happened, because it's actually the opposite. In the short amount of time that I can remember of my life, kissing you was by far the best decision that I ever made, one that I wish that I had made sooner. I was so stupid… so afraid, I guess. It took talking to Patterson about her own regrets after she lost David to make me realize just how stupid I was being. She talked about how she regretted that she had wasted time and given herself nothing but reasons why things wouldn't work between them, instead of spending that time and energy just being happy,_ _ **letting**_ _things work. She made me realize that I was doing the same thing with you. We danced around each other because… I don't even know why. Maybe we were both afraid._

His chest ached. She was right, and he knew it. What he had told her when she'd asked him about Allison was the truth. It wasn't just that _they'd_ been bad at communicating. _He_ was bad at communicating. He always had been. Ever since Taylor had disappeared, he had locked away his feelings so tightly, even when he tried to share them, it was almost impossible. Jane had called him on it as well. She hadn't quite gotten the words out, but she'd started to, and the message had been received. He knew everything about her, and he shared almost nothing with her. What he wouldn't give to go back and do it all differently. Well, not all of it. Not the others. Just things with Jane. The rest of them, he knew now, hadn't been meant to be anyway.

 _I wish that I hadn't wasted so much time. Maybe there would have been more than one kiss. But I guess now we'll never know._

His eyes widened. _**Never**_ _know? What in the world was she talking about? Where_ _ **was**_ _she? Was she never planning to come back?_ He was afraid that he was going to be sick, but he forced his eyes back to the page in front of him.

 _I understand now why you got so mad at me for sneaking out of the safe house. Of course, it took being abducted by Carter's goons to make that real to me. I thought that I could handle it, that all the training that I didn't remember having would kick in and I could just… I guess I felt like I was invincible. I realize now that I was just being stupid and stubborn, and that everything that has happened since then has been_ _ **my own fault**_ _, and all because I ditched my security detail that night. But like I told you, I needed it to just be us, just for once. And even though everything else has happened the way it has since then, I don't regret doing it that way. Because if that was the only way to show you how I really felt, then I would do it again in a heartbeat, no matter what the consequences. What I regret is that it couldn't last longer, and that it had to come to this, that we had to end up where we are now. You don't deserve any of this._

Weller closed his eyes and took a breath. This was a lot to take in, and there was still a lot more to read. It still didn't make any sense, though. So far she'd explained why she'd kissed him, but not why she'd been so desperately upset, or why she'd left. _So keep reading,_ he told himself. He inhaled slowly and opened his eyes again, returning to her words.

 _But I'm getting off track. So, what I told you about what happened when Carter was killed… most of what I told you was true. The only thing that wasn't true was that I knew the man who shot Carter. Well, not really_ _ **knew**_ _him, but he was familiar to me. He was the man from my memories, the man that I remembered being engaged to. I saw flashes of myself giving a ring back to him the day I wore those rings for the undercover mission, where we pretended we were married._

At the mention of the undercover mission, Weller's heart squeezed painfully. He had never had a doubt, of course, that they were playing a part for their mission. He wasn't confused into thinking that the roles they had played that day had been reality. And yet even still, it was a day that was unlike any other in his memory. They had fallen into their roles of husband and wife so easily, so much more so that he could have if he'd been on that mission with anyone else. If he'd had Zapata there… he could have done it, of course, but he wasn't sure it would have been as convincing – and she certainly didn't speak Bulgarian. Though he and Jane had never had a reason to be so close together before, to touch each other nearly so much, it had just felt… right. They'd been dressed up and playing a part and yet… a small part of him had wished that – despite the danger of their mission that day – that it hadn't had to end. He wondered if maybe, there was a part of him that hadn't been pretending.

He forced his eyes back to the page in front of him. He couldn't dwell on memories of that day, both because it wouldn't help his present dilemma, but also because now it felt like torture to think about her that way.

 _I still don't know any more than that about him, but he certainly knew me. After he shot Carter, he walked towards me, and I was scared. I was still tied up – just because he had killed Carter didn't mean that I was safe. He knew me, but I didn't know him. You'd think I'd be used to uncertainty by now, that it wouldn't bother me, that I'd be used to not remembering things and people by now… but no._

 _He didn't say anything, just held out a phone and played a video for me. And this is where it's going to sound insane. I know, because I still can't believe it myself, and I was there. It makes me sick, because this is the part where I know that you're going to end up hating me._

He put the letter down again and exhaled loudly. _Hate_ her? He couldn't think of any possible way that he could hate her. If anything, he…

 _Not now_ , he told himself. _Maybe you should keep reading before you make that kind of commitment, even in your head._ But he knew deep down that it was too late to stop it.

He picked up the letter again, and read on anxiously.

 _The video was a recording of_ _ **me**_ _. I had longer hair, and I talked a little differently – more confidently, maybe? – but it was definitely me. I guess I had recorded it before… everything. Before the tattoos, and the memory wipe, before I became Jane Doe… all of it. And that woman – me – she said she knew that I was scared and confused, that I could trust the man who was playing that video for me, that his name was Oscar… she said that that if I was seeing the video, then the mission was going as planned._

Weller's brain felt as though it came to a screeching halt then. _The mission?!_ He felt anger course through him suddenly, mixing with the confusion and anxiety that he'd already been feeling as he read her letter. _What the hell was she talking about?_ He took a deep breath and picked up the paper again. There was a mistake. She was about to explain that this meant something different than the way he was understanding it. _It had to be a mistake._

 _And I know that this sounds insane, and I know that there's no possible way it can be true, right? Except that it is. She didn't give me a lot of answers, but she did give me one, and this is that part that hurts me to tell you, but it's the truth and you deserve to know the truth._

 _She said that_ _ **I did this to myself**_ **.** _The tattoos, the memory wipe, and worst of all, sending me to you specifically… she said that it was all_ _ **my**_ _plan. My idea. And I know that this means that I betrayed you in the worst possible way, because whatever the reason—_

Weller put the paper down on the table in front of him. _She did WHAT? She… she…_ His mind was no longer functioning.

The only thing that he could think was that s _he had been a plant. He had been her fucking_ _ **mission**_ _._

He saw nothing but red before his eyes, and he slammed his fist on the table as hard as it was physically possible. _This isn't happening. It_ _ **can't**_ _be happening. Not Jane. No._ **I know her** _._

 _No, you don't,_ the other voice in his head told him. _Apparently, you never did._

 _ **That's not true**_ **,** he thought angrily, closing his eyes and slamming his hand on the table once again, every curse word he knew in every language he'd ever learned them in streaming through his brain in rapid succession. His hand contracted into a fist as his anger intensified, partially balling up the papers he'd been holding, and then, as if they had burned him, he opened his hand and dropped the offending letter, scattering the pages on the floor.

 _This is not_ _ **happening**_ _. This is_ _ **NOT**_ _happening._

He stood up, suddenly unable to sit still, and began pacing wildly, walking around the living room, not even aware of the severe pain in his hand from slamming it on the table twice in a row. He walked up to the Christmas tree that sat pathetically at the other end of the counter, and with one swing of his hand, he grabbed it by the top of its pathetic trunk and threw it as hard as he could across the room, where it hit the wall and fell to the ground with a _thud_. This did nothing to quench his anger, however, so next he crushed the bag of ornaments that lay on the floor before him, stepping on them as hard as he could, hearing the crash of the fragile glass balls crunching from the impact, and then, after picking up his foot again, he kicked the bag that now contained only remains of glass ornaments, watching as pieces of them flew across the room in every direction.

 _This isn't happening. This isn't happening. This isn't happening._ It was all he could think about, the only words that would form in his head.

His next coherent thought to wonder where she had gone, and he was willing to bet that once again, her security detail had no idea that she had gone. He almost ran to the front door, flung it open and looked outside. Sure enough, the two agents were there. He was irrationally angry, but he knew that it wasn't their fault. _She_ had done this. Whether or not she could be held responsible for the actions of her former self, she had snuck out of her safe house in the last few hours. _That much_ , at least, she had done on purpose. _What was worse,_ he wondered, _the leaving, or the betrayal?_

 _Shut the hell up, Weller. That's not fair and you know it,_ the voice in his head said. _You know very well that the Jane that you know is_ _ **not**_ _the one who betrayed you. Okay, yes, technically she's the same person, but she had no more idea than you did who she was or what her other self had done. It_ _ **was**_ _her, but it_ _ **wasn't.**_

It was too much, though, because he just couldn't accept this, no matter how logical he knew that it was. His head and his heart were at war, and his head could only process rage. _She did this on purpose_ , it screamed.

 _But she_ _ **didn't**_ _. It_ _ **was**_ _her plan, but it wasn't._ His heart tried to defend Jane, but it wasn't working.

He looked at the agents, who were looking at him strangely, wondering why he was standing there and looking at them at the crack of dawn on Christmas Day, probably looking like he was about to kill someone. He wasn't in the mood to mince words. "She's gone. _Again_. Call Mayfair," he said simply, before going back inside and leaving the agents to sort things out, to coordinate with headquarters. He knew that he'd been hearing from Mayfair very shortly.

Inside, he stalked around the house, looking for anything out place, besides the things that he had just _put_ out of place, anything that could give him a clue to where she had gone. _Anything._

And then just like that, all of his rage suddenly flipped to desperation. _Please_ , he thought frantically, _Jane, don't do this._ Of course, it was all already done, but he was beside himself to do something, anything…

Suddenly he stopped where he stood, in the entryway in front of the mirror, looking at himself as though he was a was happening to him? He inhaled a long, deep breath, flexing all of the fingers of both hands simultaneously. _Don't do anything stupid, Weller,_ he told himself. He stalked back to the counter where Jane's letter had fluttered to the ground, scattered in front of the barstools amongst shards of broken ornaments. The broken shards of ornaments and the crumpled papers were too strong of a metaphor for what was happening around him, and again he closed his eyes just for a second, inhaling and willing himself to see reason, even if only a little bit, however deep it may have been buried inside him at the moment.

There was no being objective, he knew – that had never been an option when it came to Jane, he had realized long ago – but he needed to at least not lose his fucking mind. He couldn't have Mayfair bench him… though the more he thought about it, the more it seemed like she was going to do exactly that. _For his own good,_ of course.

He picked up the crumpled pages, smoothing them against the counter though not bothering to put them back in order before shoving them roughly in his pocket. He had managed to ignore the extreme temptation to rip the letter to shreds without even reading the rest of it, but he didn't trust himself to hold it in his hands right now. He _would_ read the rest of it, but at that moment he just couldn't do it. He was so very angry with her, so betrayed by her…

And yet, in a twisted way, he _knew_ that she was as much of a victim here as he was – a victim of herself, maybe (was that even possible?), but a victim nonetheless. He knew this deep down, and his heart was screaming it at the top of its voice inside him… but his brain couldn't bring itself to hear it.

He stopped in the entry again, looking back at his reflection in the mirror. _Is this somehow my fault_? he wondered. It didn't seem possible, but then again, none of it did. He could simply not believe that this was happening.

 _She couldn't have just fucking told me all this?_ he raged silently.

 _Would you really have been able to hear it?_ the other voice asked. He looked back at himself in the mirror, seeing so many different emotions. Anxiety, worry, anger, desperation, betrayal… Betrayal was the one that stung the most right now.

 _You_ _ **know**_ _her,_ he told himself. _And she knows you. She knew that she had to tell you, to do the right thing, but she also knew how you would react. And look at that… she was right._

 _But I—_

 _Stop and fucking listen!_ the voice said. _She didn't_ _ **want**_ _to hurt you, you moron! Why do you think she was acting the way she was? Come on, think about it! She'd never, ever seemed so… desperate._

 _She fucking—_

 _No, she didn't._

 _No, you listen to_ _ **me**_ _._ The angry side of his brain had the upper hand now. _Yes, she fucking_ _ **did**_ **.** _ **She betrayed you**_ **.** _You were nothing but a goddamn, fucking mission to her._

The anger that had been building inside him suddenly boiled over again, flipped back from desperation to rage, and like before, all he could see was red before his eyes. Before he knew what he'd done, he'd punched the mirror in front of him with a force that even _he_ would never have guessed that he possessed, only coming back to his senses enough to know what he had done when he heard the glass shatter into a million tiny shards. A great number of them lodged themselves in his fist, while many others fell to the ground. Still, that left thousands of them, at least, still intact in the frame of the mirror, which, no longer held securely on its hook, then crashed to the ground below, hard, sending even more glass flying everywhere. If it hadn't been dangerous to be around all that flying glass, it would have been somewhat spectacular to see.

Weller just stood in the midst of it, watching glass raining down around him. He couldn't help but think that none of it mattered. How could it? _At the end of the day, this was about as bad as things could get_ , he reasoned in his completely deranged state of mind.

And that was where Mayfair found him, standing in front of the remains of the broken mirror, when she walked through the front door ten minutes later. His fists were still clenched, one of them bleeding, his head hung low and his eyes closed, looking as if he was struggling to breathe. She didn't know what had happened to bring Kurt Weller to his current state, but she knew that it had something to do with Jane, and she knew that it was going to be a very, very long day.

This was _not_ how she'd hoped to spend Christmas Day.


	5. Think It Through

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: I can't believe how fast this story is continuing to flow out of me. I have to confess, I have almost no more idea of what's going to happen next that you guys do… but it's a fun ride! Thank you again for all of your support!_

If Mayfair had been annoyed to be called into work on Christmas Day, she didn't show it when she arrived at Jane's safe house. She let herself in the front door, knowing the physical state of the place that she was walking into, but with very little idea about the mental state of her lead agent. Jane's security detail had reported that Weller had come out to tell them that Jane was gone early that morning, and shortly after that, they said, all hell had broken loose inside. When they'd stepped in to check and see what was going on, they had found only Agent Weller, looking anything like a lead agent for the FBI. On the contrary, he had looked to them more like one of the suspects that Weller was usually sent to deal with. The state of the house, too – at least on the first floor – was quite the disaster.

She shook her head and sighed as she looked at Weller, standing there in front of a mirror that he had quite obviously punched. There was definitely a story behind _that._

As much as she wanted to give him the luxury of space and time, she needed him to come back to reality at least long enough to tell her what had happened, and to get his hand cleaned up. After that, it was already obvious that she'd be sending him home.

Clearing her throat, she stepped forward toward him slowly. Weller and her team were like her family, especially Weller, who she'd worked with for years already, and she hated to see him in such obvious pain. He didn't respond, and she stopped a few feet away from him so that she didn't startle him with her proximity if he hadn't heard her approach. "Weller," she said in a calm, even voice that was neither very loud nor very quiet. "I need you to tell me what happened."

Weller breathed deeply, holding the breath in and then exhaling it again slowly, still not opening his eyes or trusting his voice, before he reached his right hand, complete with the knuckles full of glass, into his pocket. As he drew his hand back out, the soft sounds of tiny shards of glass falling out of his knuckles, into his pocket and onto the floor, could be heard. Mayfair watched as he pulled out several crumpled sheets of paper.

Weller opened his eyes then, and Mayfair almost gasped in surprise. She had known the man for a long time, and they had been through a lot of rough cases together, and it was rare to see him even pissed off. There wasn't a lot that he didn't seem to be able to handle. The look in his eyes just then, however, spoke volumes. There was an angry fire there that she had never seen there before.

"She was here. Yesterday. I came over and found her here last night, beside herself with grief over… something she wouldn't tell me about," he began, trying to keep his composure. His voice was almost robotic, it was so hard for him to get the words out. "I got her to calm down, but barely, and it didn't last. I stayed here last night, because she was in no shape to be alone."

Mayfair just nodded. Anyone with even a little bit of FBI training, and probably lots of people without it, could easily tell that there was _something_ between Jane and Weller that wasn't there with anyone else. Never mind the agent and asset relationship just them, she was glad that Jane had someone to lean on. She knew all too well that it wasn't easy to be alone.

"Then, this morning, she was gone, and I found this," he told her, holding out the crumpled pages to her. "There's a lot of, uh… surprises in there," he added hoarsely. He knew that not everything in Jane's note was work-related, but at this point, what did it matter? Mayfair stepped forward and took the pages from his outstretched hand, watching him carefully as she took it.

She stepped back with the letter in her hand, still watching Weller. "You need to have that hand looked at," she told him simply.

"I'm fine," was his gruff reply.

She sighed at the state he was in, and that he was actually going to try to tell her that he was fine, and walked to the front door, stepped outside and spoke to Jane's security detail, who was still there, waiting to be told what to do next. Just then, Reade and Zapata arrived, both looking confused and a little bit anxious. They walked up to Mayfair and stopped in front of her, their faces full of questions.

"We have a situation," she told the two agents. "I don't know what's going on with Weller, but Jane is gone."

"Gone?" Zapata repeated in disbelief before Mayfair could say any more.

Mayfair sighed and nodded, holding up her hand for quiet so she could finish. "I don't know what happened. Weller just handed me this," she held up the crumpled note, "and I haven't had a chance to read it yet. Whatever it is, he's badly shaken up. The first floor is a bit of a disaster, and the security detail said that no one had gone in or out in the past twenty four hours besides Jane and Weller. I think that whatever happened upset him so much, that he started trashing the place." 

At that suggestion, Zapata and Reade exchange shocked glances, then looked back at their boss. "I know, it doesn't make any sense yet. The first priority right now is Weller. Apparently he punched the mirror in the front entry. It's shattered everywhere, and his hand needs to be cleaned up. I need you to get him an EMT. I'm going to take a look at this," she held up the note again, "and see what I can learn. See if you can get anything from Weller. He seems to be in shock."

Reade and Zapata nodded, looking at each other worriedly. Zapata took out her phone to call for an EMT, and Reade headed inside the house.

Mayfair walked slowly to her SUV, already starting to read Jane's letter. She climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle, parked at the curb, and closed the door behind her so that she could read without distractions. When she read that Jane had kissed Weller, she shook her head sadly. It wasn't even the protocol issue that got to her.

On the contrary, while some people thought of FBI agents as cold, unfeeling robots who worked for the government and therefore should be expected to carry out their jobs devoid of emotion, she of all people understood that life was not that simple. With everything that had happened to her in her past, she was the last person to be in a position to judge anyone else for their choices. Weller was the finest agent she knew, probably the finest that she had ever known. In every case except this one, he was the picture of objectivity, remaining detached yet still sympathetic in his investigations, getting his job done to the best of his ability, and almost always getting the results they needed.

This situation that they found themselves in now… there was no way for it _not_ to be personal, and she certainly couldn't hold that against him. Did she wish that her charges could make some slightly different choices? Well, that might have made _her_ life easier. But this case wasn't about her, and she knew it. More than anything, she just wanted both Weller and Jane to be okay, to be safe, and if at all possible, for them to put together the mystery of what had happened to Jane in the first place. After all, there was confidential government information all over Jane's body, and that wasn't just something they could ignore. The fact that they had kissed, well, it wasn't a surprise after the way they'd acted around each other for so long now.

As she read on, she began to understand the mental breakdown that Weller seemed to have experienced. She herself was feeling a mixture of sadness and betrayal on Weller's behalf, knowing that what he was experiencing right now was exponentially worse. As far as Jane went, it was clear that the young woman was torturing herself over things that she – Jane, the woman that she was _now_ – had no control over. Was she technically the same person? Well, physically, yes. But in reality, for all intents and purposes, she wasn't. It was a distinction that she imagined that Weller was struggling with at the moment, based on his actions.

Reade was even more surprised than Mayfair had been at the state of the house as well as the state of the team's lead agent, not having been briefed quite as fully about what had happened inside as Mayfair had been. He stood for a minute just a few steps inside the door looking at Weller, who was just standing and staring at the broken mirror. When Mayfair had said that the mirror had shattered everywhere, she hadn't been kidding.

Zapata came in quickly a minute later, and stopped suddenly in the doorway, an audible gasp escaping from her mouth before she could stop it, as her hand flew to her mouth in an attempt, though unsuccessful, to mask her shock. She stepped forward to where Reade stood, the sound of glass crunching under her shoes as she walked. The two agents stood for a minute, not quite sure what to make of the situation, then looked at each other and shrugged. Finally, Zapata took a step forward, the glass once again crunching her feet.

"Weller," she said cautiously, unsure exactly what they were dealing with. "Are you okay?"

Weller looked up at her, his eyes reflecting back a combination of emotions that she had never seen there before. She couldn't even begin to identify them, which was unusual, because usually she could read Weller pretty well. Things were usually pretty cut and dry with him. With Jane, however, she knew that things were always more complicated. After long enough that she wondered if he'd actually heard her question, he finally uttered simply, "No."

"What happened?" she asked him in a voice that was far softer and more compassionate than her usual sarcastic, teasing tone. This wasn't the time for any of that. They all knew the soft spot that Weller had for Jane, and vice versa. Hell, she and Reade had a running bet about how long it was going to take them to get together.

Weller just shook his head and looked back down at the light shimmering off of the pieces of glass on the ground. It was mesmerizing, to the point that he could almost forget that he wasn't there alone. And yet, he could feel the weight of his two teammates' stares on him, and he knew that he had to pull himself together. "I…" he began, but couldn't seem to get any farther. "She…" He just sighed and shook his head. "It was all a lie," he said finally, and then abruptly he turned and walked outside.

Reade and Zapata were both caught off guard by Weller's sudden movement, and they scrambled to go after him. Reade got there first, having been closer to the door. He got in front of Weller as he walked out onto the sidewalk, walking backwards in front of him and putting up his hand to try to get Weller to stop. "Weller, hang on, man. Slow down. We're here to help you. You _know_ that. We're a team. You gotta tell us what happened. _What_ was a lie?" Zapata had come up beside Weller, but kept back a few steps as Reade now took the lead.

Weller just shook his head, pursing his lips and exhaling loudly. " _All of it_ ," he spat bitterly. "It was _all_ a lie. She was never Jane, she was… someone else. It was all part of her _plan_." The look on his face told Reade and Zapata not to ask any more questions, at least at that moment. His venomous tone was more than a little concerning.

Just then, the EMTs arrived, walking up to them quickly but cautiously. "Agent Weller," one of them said, "let's take a look at that hand." Weller looked at the young man who'd spoken to him and, surprisingly, just nodded and followed him to the back of the ambulance in which they'd arrived. Zapata and Reade continued to stand there, stunned by the few words that Weller had said. It just didn't make sense. It just wasn't possible that…

Mayfair had finished the letter, noticing that the last two pages were stuck together slightly, and wondered if Weller had even gotten all the way through it. It wouldn't surprise her if he'd been so emotional, that he hadn't even been able to finish reading it. With a heavy sigh, she exited the SUV and stepped back out onto the sidewalk, into the early morning air that was by now full of FBI and EMT radio chatter. She saw Weller following one of the EMTs, and saw Reade and Zapata standing on the sidewalk, looking taken aback and extremely confused.

"Reade. Zapata. You need to see this," Mayfair called to them from just outside her SUV, which she'd just stepped out of by the curb. She held up several papers in one hand, they noticed. As she'd read Jane's letter, she had smoothed the mangled pages out as best she could and put them back in order. Now she offered them to her agents. Zapata took them and looked at her questioningly, not knowing what they were in for.

"Did you get anything from Weller?" Mayfair asked them.

"All he said was that it was all a lie, that she wasn't Jane, and that it was part of her plan," Reade told her, regurgitating Weller's only words to them in confusion. Mayfair nodded seriously.

"Jane left this note for Weller. It explains a lot of what happened here. You two read it and get up to speed. I'm going to check inside," Mayfair told them. The two agents nodded, moving closer together so that they could both see the first page, and Mayfair walked back towards the front door.

At the beginning of the second paragraph, when she read the words " _the night that I kissed you,_ " Zapata elbowed Reade in the ribs, a smirk on her face.

"You owe me, you know," she said in a low but triumphant voice. She'd been convinced that Jane and Weller were going to have gotten together before Christmas, and apparently she'd been right. She'd actually thought that it would have happened sooner than it had.

Reade rolled his eyes and groaned, then gave her a chastising look and said, "Hey, be serious! This isn't the time for that!" He couldn't keep a straight face, however, and grinned just a little before adding, "Yeah, yeah, shut up, Z. You win." He nudged her back, and they went back to reading.

However, as they continued reading, they quickly forgot about teasing each other. The letter was heartbreaking, and it did a lot to explain the shape that they'd found Weller in. Given the circumstances, neither of them could be sure they wouldn't feel equally betrayed. Neither of them could say that they felt completely one way or the other about the whole thing, either.

They finished reading and then stood in silence, both lost in thought for a few seconds. Zapata sighed heavily, walking a few steps from Reade and then turning back around to face him. "I don't even… I just can't believe it," she said finally.

"Yeah," Reade said, exhaling loudly. "I'm going to see if Mayfair's found anything. You wanna check on Weller?" He looked at her uncertainly, not sure if she'd like that division of labor. As far as he was concerned, he was offering her the harder of the two tasks.

To his surprise, however, Zapata nodded. "Sure," she replied, glancing over to where he sat on the back step of the ambulance among the EMTs. She turned back to Reade and refolded Jane's letter, holding it out to him. "Wanna give this back to Mayfair? I don't think Weller really wants to see it right now."

"Sure," Reade said with a nod. "Good luck," he added, glancing quickly in the lead agent's direction before turning to go inside.

Zapata smiled sadly and began walking slowly toward Weller. Her respect for him had always been strong. He held the team together and, even when she questioned his decisions, she couldn't help but be impressed by the results he nearly always seemed to get. Since Jane had come along, she'd seen him waver a little, but at the same time, she'd also seen him become more human, and just a little less super-human, which was a nice change. Now, her sympathy for what her co-worker, her _friend_ , was going through was almost overpowering. There really was no right thing to say, nothing that would fix things, but she was up to the challenge of trying.

The EMTs had finished removing the glass from Weller's hand, and he now had a clean, white bandage wrapped around it. As they moved around, chattering to each other, he sat on the back step of the ambulance seeming completely oblivious to his surroundings. With a sigh, she walked closer and sat down beside him, glancing at him and then looking out in front of them, in the direction where he was staring.

Weller saw Zapata sit down beside him, but couldn't bring himself to move or say anything. What difference would it make? He couldn't tell what emotion he was feeling, if any, at that moment. Hell, maybe he was feeling all of them, or maybe none. Maybe, if he just sat here without moving, maybe he could just disappear.

They sat that way for a long minute before Zapata sighed softly, and said, "Weller, I…"

He shook his head, his eyes closing of their own accord. _Please, just leave me alone,_ his thoughts begged. But this was Zapata, and he knew he didn't have a chance in hell of that happening. She may have been little compared to him, but she was feisty and she always spoke her mind. He'd always liked that about her. Hell, she'd been the one to point out to him that—

 _Don't go there,_ the voice said.

 _Fuck,_ he thought angrily. I can't even have one thought that doesn't involve her.

But Zapata started talking anyway. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I… I can't even imagine how you're feeling." She glanced at his hand. "Though I _do_ have an idea…"

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and saw her looking at his hand and grinning maybe just the slightest bit, knowing exactly what she was trying to say. It had to be something like, _Yes, I get that you're pissed. You punched the mirror for God's sake._ He exhaled loudly and looked back down, shaking his head.

"It's a lot – too much – I get that." She paused, trying to think of the right way to say it, so that he wouldn't just shut down, but would actually hear her. She liked to think of herself as having the kind of relationship where she could be brutally honest with him, but this was perhaps not the best time of brutal honesty. He hadn't moved or changed expression, but she was fairly sure that so far, he was listening.

"I'm sure that you're feeling like a hundred different things right now… and I'm guessing that very few of them, if any, are good feelings." She stopped again, not wanting to give her assessment too quickly, and to give him a chance to absorb it. "Just…" she looked at him, trying to phrase her thought the way she wanted it to come out. "I know that it all seems black and white right now."

He nodded almost imperceptibly, which she took as a good sign, so she continued. "But if there's one thing we've learned in this job, it's that that's just not how life is. Yeah, people want us to get the bad guys. And a lot of the people we put away really are _bad people_. But sometimes, it's not that simple. I think this is one of those times."

He started shaking his head again, and she knew she was in danger of losing his attention. She added quickly, "I'm not saying it's easy, or that you should be able to just see past it all. All I'm saying is… don't make up your mind right now. Just give it some time. Think it through. After all, we don't know what happened before, what made her do it."

Zapata wasn't one of those girly girls. She never had been. She'd never been one of the ones who cried over nothing or who sat with the girls and talked about which boys they liked. She wouldn't exactly put herself in the category of "sensitive friend." She'd definitely always been more of a smartass. But looking at Weller's expression right now, even _she_ couldn't help but hurt for him.

"Besides," she continued carefully, "you can't tell me that what she went through was an act." He looked like he was about to protest, so she continued before he had a chance. "Whoever she was before, we didn't know her. But we know _Jane_. _You_ know Jane." He started shaking head again, opening his mouth but found that no words would come. Her voice only grew more insistent.

"Dammit Weller, don't do this to yourself. Everyone makes mistakes. Some of us make bigger ones than others. Maybe that other girl's mistake was to think that she knew you, that she had it all figured out by watching you from a distance." She could see that she was veering farther and farther into dangerous territory with him, but by now it was go big or go home. "But _she wasn't Jane_." Weller looked like he was going to get up and storm away then, but he seemed to think better of it after a second, so Zapata continued.

"It sucks. This whole thing, it _sucks_ ," she repeated emphatically, earning another slight nod from Weller. "But if there's anyone who can fix an unfixable, fucked up situation, it's you. It's what you always do. Somehow, you figure it out." He snorted at her, probably in disbelief, she imagined. "Just… do me a favor and don't give up yet. We're gonna get to the bottom of it all somehow. Even if she made a mistake, even if it was a _big_ mistake, at the end of the day, we're talking about _Jane_. Not some stranger."

Weller didn't move, didn't blink, and Zapata couldn't tell if she had gotten through to him. Either way, though, she'd said what she wanted to say, at least for now. She patted his knee sympathetically, and stood up to go in search of Reade and Mayfair, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He knew that what Zapata had said was the truth, but it was hard to hear. It was easier to accept that she'd betrayed him and that it had all been a lie, than to somehow work through the gray areas in between. Zapata's words, however, had brought him back to a conversation that he'd had with Jane when he'd been so angry with Mayfair after finding out about Daylight. Of course, it brought him back to Jane. Somehow, everything came back to Jane, which was the reason for his current agony.

Her words echoed in his head, and he closed his eyes again, as if that would stop the flood of emotions. _I just hope that you can try to see her side of things… because whatever she did, she's more than just one mistake._

This might be so, but he wasn't quite sure that this counted as only one mistake. Still, he felt a little calmer, significantly less likely to punch a mirror or throw a Christmas tree across a room. He stood up and paced the sidewalk for a while, his thoughts still racing, but not violently so. When Mayfair, Reade and Zapata emerged from the safe house a little while later, they were relieved to see that he looked a little more like himself, a little less frantic.

As expected, Mayfair wanted him off the case, at least for now. "You need to go home," she told him. "Is your sister there?" Weller just shrugged. He couldn't even remember what day it was, much less where Sarah would be. And then he remembered that it was Christmas Day, and that the sun was now up, which meant that Sarah was probably wondering where the hell he was. He pulled out his phone and found that he had more than a few missed calls, voicemails, and texts from her.

Holding up the display on his phone for them to see, he grimaced and said, "I think she's looking for me."

Zapata stepped forward, glancing back at Mayfair. "I'll give him a ride home, and meet you back downtown." Mayfair nodded her agreement. Weller, however, felt terrible that because of him, his team was going to work on Christmas Day.

"Shit, I'm sorry-" he began, but Mayfair cut him off.

"Weller, we got this one. Don't worry, we'll keep you in the loop." He sighed heavily, and nodded, following Zapata to one of the black SUVs parked at the curb as Mayfair and Reade walked to the other. Weller nodded his thanks to the other two once more as he climbed into the passenger seat beside Zapata, sighing for what felt like the millionth time that day.

Zapata looked at him with concern, but didn't say anything. Weller stared straight ahead and she watched him take a deep breath, exhale slowly, and suddenly look visibly calmer. He needed time to process it all, she knew, so they rode in silence until they reached Weller's block. She pulled the car up at the curb in front of his building and put the car in park, turning to look at him. Weller was still staring straight ahead, and when they stopped, he glanced at her, nodded, and simply said, "Thanks, Zapata." She smiled slightly at him and nodded back.

"You got it, boss."

He climbed out of the car and walked numbly to the front door of his building. He was going to have to face Sarah, he was going to have to somehow tell her something to explain his current situation, and he was going to have to figure out his next steps… and do it all preferably without punching any mirrors.

Jane's words still echoed through his head. He had a lot to think about.


	6. Off The Grid

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

Jane realized after she left that she may not have completely thought through the whole "slipping out into the dark and going on the run" thing. To start with, she didn't have much money, certainly not enough to live on for very long, especially in such an expensive city. Of course, she didn't need much in the way of material things – she was already used to having only the bare necessities, most of which she'd packed in the backpack that hung from her shoulders. She'd started from nothing not long ago, after all, and she could do it again. Still, the issues of money complicated matters significantly, and she knew it. She did have to continue to _eat_ , after all, and it wouldn't take too long before the money that she'd been given by the FBI ran out.

If she didn't want to be tracked down by the end of the first day, she needed to not use her bank card or anything else that could be traced. Weller and the rest of the team were pretty brilliant at tracking and profiling, and they already knew pretty much everything about her. Actually, she kept expecting him to be standing right behind her every time she turned around, or to randomly tap her on the shoulder and say "Really, Jane? Did you think I wouldn't find you?" She had to be completely off the grid, and even that wasn't a guarantee that they wouldn't somehow find her. She'd watched them do it many, many times. It was a little bit scary how good they were.

However, being off the grid meant, among other things, using only cash. That meant either carrying around a large amount of it – generally considered to be a bad idea, especially when you were on the run, by yourself, in a big city – or having a smaller amount of it on her and then constantly having the problem of getting more without having her movements tracked by ATMs, and that was if the FBI didn't have the bank freeze her account. Having worked with the FBI for a while now, she knew exactly how their investigations went. They were pretty darn brilliant, especially Patterson. Jane's head already hurt from trying to come up with the best plan just as far as money went, much less any of the other problems with her so-called plan. How long could she _do_ this?

The second big problem with her plan, after money, was her lack of a destination – where exactly had she been thinking that she was going to _go_ , anyway? Leaving New York City would mean increasing her chances of being recognized exponentially – it wasn't exactly easy for her to blend in, after all. Besides that, when it came right down to it, she didn't _want_ to leave New York City. That struck her as sort of a problem with the whole running away plan. When you ran away, you were supposed to, well… _leave._

But for some reason, she just couldn't bring herself to go. It wasn't just that it was the only place she remembered, though that _was_ part of it. Because of everything she'd been through, she tended to cling to the little bits of familiarity around her for dear life. It was more than that, however, and she knew exactly what force prevented her from leaving the city… or rather, she knew _who_ kept her tethered there. It wasn't exactly hard to figure out, after all.

The third major problem with her plan was that she had no one to help her, no one she could run _to_. So she could run away from Kurt and the FBI, sure… _but then what?_ Her only thought had been to get away from Kurt so that he didn't get hurt – or more accurately, so she didn't have to be there to _watch_ him get hurt, she corrected herself – and she'd forgotten that she didn't actually know where she was going. Now she was on her own and eternity stretched out before her like a never ending highway.

What was the point of any of it now? She told herself that she hadn't had another choice, and yet still… _she_ had chosen this. She might not have chosen what the "other her" had done in her past, but she had chosen _this_. She had allowed herself to turn into someone that she wasn't – someone who ran away from her problems, which she'd never done before. _It's not the first time you've turned yourself into someone you weren't,_ she thought bitterly. That was the problem with the idea that she'd done all this to herself – she had no one else to blame. She was doing a pretty great job of blaming herself, too.

She pushed herself down the alleys behind her safe house, getting farther and farther from where she desperately wanted to be, from the person that she desperately wanted to be with. She had no idea where she was going, or what she would do when she got there. It didn't really matter, of course. She had nothing left now. That meant that she had nothing left to lose, which made her that much bolder. Still, she kept to the shadows. No sense in tempting fate on her first night out. After all, she had lots of time ahead of her to make stupid mistakes. For now, it made sense to take it slow and try to think before she made any more rash decisions. She was pretty sure that this one fulfilled her quota for the year, possibly the next few years.

Hours later, the sky was beginning to turn pink in anticipation of the sunrise, and she hadn't stopped moving. Luckily for her, the weather was unseasonably warm for the end of December, so the thin jacket that she wore was perfectly sufficient. She wasn't foolish enough to think that her luck in that department would hold out, but she couldn't think about that just then. Forcing herself to stay in the moment, she concentrated only on keeping herself moving.

She'd been walking for hours, and when she paused to catch her breath, leaning against the brick wall of an old, graffiti covered building, she realized just how tired she was. The adrenaline that had been coursing through her had begun to wear off, and suddenly it felt like too much of a chore even to start walking again. Glancing around, she evaluated her surroundings. She really didn't even know which part of the city she was in at that point, so she couldn't really make an educated decision about whether this was a good place to stop and rest. She knew that some parts of the city were far more dangerous than others, or so she had been told. She'd noticed during her late night travels when she'd slipped out of her safe house without her security detail that you could usually get a sense of how safe an area was just from just looking around and paying attention to details. Luckily for her, she was good at that.

When she looked around her now, she decided that the area didn't look _too_ bad. It certainly wasn't the richest part of town, but it wasn't the worst either. It would have to do, she decided, because her feet were unwilling to go another step for the time being. Leaning her back against the wall, she sank to the ground, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her forehead against her knees, just as she had sitting on the bathroom floor, when her back had been to the door and Kurt had been on the other side.

 _Kurt._

And just like when she had sat leaned up against the bathroom door with Kurt on the other side, she began to cry – for the situation in which she now found herself, for her betrayal, for being a coward, for the unfairness of life… all of it. If anything, she sobbed harder now, because she knew, or thought she knew, the destruction that she had already left in her wake, and she knew that nothing good lay ahead of her. Only more of _this_.

She didn't remember falling asleep, only knew that when she jerked awake, the city was awake around her, with the sounds and smells that indicated every bit of a new day. Horns honking, the aroma of various kinds of food wafting through the air, the sounds of people shouting to each other in the distance…

Lifting her head, she saw that it was fully light outside now, the pink in the sky having given way to a sunny day. _Christmas Day_ , she remembered suddenly. Groaning again, she realized that she had now officially ruined Christmas – this one, and probably all of the ones to come – for Kurt, and that it was very likely that her team – no, _Weller's team_ , she corrected herself, since she could no longer call herself part of the team – would now be working today, trying to find her.

She could make it easy on them and just go back. Save them the trouble of looking for her. She had no doubt that Weller would move heaven and Earth trying to find her, wouldn't stop until he did. This wasn't the Taylor Shaw case. He wasn't ten years old and helpless anymore. He was an FBI agent, and he wouldn't give up.

 _Or will he be so angry that he won't even look for me?_

The thought left her feeling slightly sick. She didn't want him to find her because she was afraid to have to face him, but what if he didn't _want_ to find her?

 _No,_ she reassured herself, _even if he didn't want to, he'd have to. Mayfair said it herself. My body is covered with confidential information. It's why they gave me a security detail. They can't let the secrets fall into the wrong hands, and all that bullshit._

 _But,_ she argued with herself, _he could take himself off the case. Mayfair would never argue with that decision. He's always been too close to be objective, and it's a wonder she let him stay on as lead agent at all. He could just have himself removed from the case. The_ _ **FBI**_ _might have to look for you, but_ _ **Weller**_ _doesn't._

She stopped to consider this new possibility, and had to admit that it made sense. She felt even queasier than before.

 _Okay… so then what the hell are you_ _ **doing**_ _out here, running away, if you know they're not going to let you get away? That they'll only bring you back?_

She didn't have an answer for that one.

 _And if you're not willing to leave the city, how can you possibly think that they won't eventually find you?_ she asked herself. Once again, she had no answer for that question. She filed both of them in her mind along with all of the other questions that she hadn't bothered to consider before she'd run away.

 _I really am stupid sometimes_ , she lamented. Still, it was too late for that now.

 _Is it?_ that voice asked her. _You could just go back._

 _No,_ she thought stubbornly. _Nothing has changed. I betrayed him. That's not going to change. He's better off without me, without having to wonder if he or the team can trust me. I don't even trust myself. What else will I remember? What other horrible things have I done? What was my "mission" that made me send myself to Weller?_

She shuddered at the thought of other potential, horrible memories of things she may have done, recalling the memory flash that she'd had early on of standing in a church and shooting someone – someone dressed as _nun_ , whether she actually was a nun or not – at point blank range in the head. The thought made her feel sick enough to wonder if she would actually throw up, and she closed her eyes tightly and shook her head, trying to will the picture of it to go away. _Think of something else_ , she told herself.

Without warning, the image in her mind was of Weller, the way he'd looked, the way he'd looked _at her,_ when they'd been undercover to recover the WitSec list from Rich DotCom. When they'd stood close together, dancing. The way he'd looked at her when she'd asked him if he'd ever been married, and his reply had been " _No, never married. I'm too choosy_." The look he'd given her had been so intense, she'd had to look away after only a few seconds, and for some reason she'd found herself blushing. She'd known that they were playing the roles of husband and wife that day, and yet… she couldn't help but feel like some tiny part of it hadn't been pretend.

Her heart constricted and she felt physical pain in her chest. She couldn't decide which image had been worse, the one that scared her, or the one that hurt her so badly because of what she'd lost. She would give anything, _anything_ , to go back to that day and stay there forever, never mind that their lives had been in jeopardy. That sense of danger that they'd be "made," and then killed, even _that_ was preferable to what she felt right now. At least she hadn't been alone. Even if it had been a lie, at least she hadn't had to know back then that she'd betrayed him.

 _So let me get this straight,_ the voice in her head began anew, _you prefer for the two of you to have your lives in serious danger than to have to look in his eyes and see the anger of having been betrayed._

 _Pretty much,_ she answered quickly. It had seemed so logical, until her thoughts put it that way. Why did it sound ridiculous now?

 _But what if,_ the voice playing devil's advocate began, _you didn't see not anger or betrayal in his eyes? What if he now knows the truth, and he actually understands?_

The thought hit her like a ton of bricks, like a freight train slamming into a mountain. She'd never even considered that as a possibility. What if he _didn't_ hate her? No, it just wasn't possible. How could he _not_ hate her, after everything? She hated _herself –_ how could he possibly feel any different?

 _What if_ , the voice asked again, _what if he's angry and confused at first, and then he thinks about it, and he comes around?_ It seemed like far too much to hope for, too big a chance to take. If she went back, and she was wrong… no, she couldn't do it, as much as she desperately wanted to.

 _Just think about it,_ the voice in her head said, _It's not as though you have anything else keeping you so busy that you can't at least think about it._

She puffed out her lips in a pout, annoyed with herself because it was true. She had nothing but time… and apparently, a split personality that liked to give her advice that went contrary to everything that she _thought_ that she'd figured out.

That thought had her fully awake now and ready to move, anything to shake herself out a little, and hopefully shake that thought out with the tiredness and achy muscles that came with sleeping on the hard ground in such an uncomfortable position. Her aching body was nothing compared to the ache she felt in her heart, but there was nothing she could do about that except try to think of something else. When she thought about it that way, she decided that she'd rather focus on her aching muscles, after all.

Standing up and grabbing the backpack that she'd hugged close to her as she'd slept, she ignored the growling in her stomach and headed in search of a public building that would at least have a bathroom that she could use.

It was going to be a long day, she thought with a heavy sigh. She had a lot to think about.


	7. In the Shadows

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: Thank you all again for all the love you've given this story. For those of you who've read my Blindspot story_ _ **I See You**_ _, you should recognize the setting at the end of this chapter as one of the scenes I added to the events of the pilot in that story. It just seemed to tie together nicely. (Speaking of_ _ **I See You**_ _, I promise to update that one soon. I had a chapter about half done when my mind was completely taken over by this story)_

Kurt turned the key in the lock on the door to his apartment, bracing himself for the onslaught of questions from Sarah. He pushed the door open slowly, eyes down, and when he looked up into the living room, he saw her turn toward him, relief the most visible emotion on her face. Sawyer jumped up immediately from where he sat beside her on the couch near the Christmas tree. Evidence of his stocking having already been opened was, well, everywhere.

Sawyer ran at him full speed, slamming into him with a hug. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Kurt! Where _were_ you, anyway?" Weller grimaced, looking down at his nephew and awkwardly returning the hug as best he could, considering their height difference.

"Hey, buddy! I had something I had to take care of. I'm glad I didn't miss all the presents, though." His smile, and what enthusiasm he could muster, were completely forced and didn't reach his eyes, but he did his best for his nephew's benefit. After all, the kid was nine years old, and Christmas was still a very exciting time. He glanced up at Sarah, who was watching him intently. He knew that he wasn't going to escape her questions, and that it was only a matter of time before he'd have to tell her _something_. He wondered how little of the actual truth he could get away with confessing, and how much of it he was even willing to divulge. After all, what he really needed was to sort things out in his head, figure out what the hell he was going to _do._

Sawyer let go of him but then immediately grabbed Kurt's hand, mercifully the unbandaged one, pulling him toward the couch. "Uncle Kurt, look at all the cool stuff over here!" Weller was pretty sure the kid had stopped believing in Santa the previous year, but as most kids know, when you start yelling too loudly about not believing in Santa, he's less likely to leave presents. So Sawyer showed him the things that "Santa" had left in his stocking, all the while throwing knowing glances at his mother, who feigned innocence. Kurt had settled next to Sarah on the couch, and had immediately noticed her eyeing his bandaged hand. She leaned over and whispered, "We're going to talk about that," but left it at that. Kurt just nodded, knowing that his sister would not take "no" for an answer.

Within a few minutes, Sawyer had done a complete inventory of the contents of his stocking for Kurt's benefit, at which point he picked up his uncle's stocking and brought it over to him, holding it out gleefully. "Open it, Uncle Kurt! I'm dying to know what you got!" The smile on the boy's face was contagious, and despite having absolutely no interest in his stocking or anything else he was going to have to do that day, he took the handful from the smiling boy in front of him. Whether he believed in Santa or not, Christmas was a very special time for a kid.

He could feel Sarah's eyes on him as he pulled each item out of his stocking, trying for the appropriate level of excitement, thankful for Sawyer's happy face bobbing in front of him, reminding him to smile even though it seemed impossible. This was harder than any investigation he'd ever undertaken, any situation when his life had been in danger. No, focusing on what was happening in front of him just then was actually physically painful, because his chest felt like it was going to burst, and all he wanted to do was shut himself in his room and try to process what he was feeling, figure it all out. Though he wouldn't have been able to tell anyone what had actually been _in_ his stocking if he had been asked immediately afterwards, he managed to get through all of the contents with a level of excitement that Sawyer seemed to feel was appropriate.

He'd just put it all to the side and sighed with relief when there was a knock on the door. He looked at Sarah, confused, and she just stared back at him with a mixture of surprise and disappointment.

Sawyer jumped up again, and shouted, "Mom! Grandpa's here!" Sarah got up and followed her son to the door, throwing a warning look over her shoulder at her brother. Weller groaned inwardly. His relationship with their dad was tenuous at the very best, after years of estrangement. Of all the people he did _not_ have the energy to deal with today, his dad was pretty much at the top of the list. Still, it was Christmas, so it was a given that he had no choice, and he forced himself off the couch and part way across the room, coming to a stop by the kitchen table. He didn't need to crowd the entryway, after all, because there was only so much room by the door. At least that was his reasoning for remaining where he stood.

He tried to pull his face into an expression that resembled something friendly, but he had a feeling that he was failing miserably. He told himself that he could get through this. They'd spend a few hours chatting and opening presents, have their big meal early in the afternoon, and then he could only hope that he could excuse himself and get out of there.

It was going to be a long day.

Several painful hours later, Weller checked his phone and saw a text from Mayfair. Sarah had been watching him like a hawk all day, and that moment was no exception. They'd opened all of the presents and eaten and made small talk, and Sawyer was now sitting with his grandpa, attempting to teach him how to play a video game that he'd unwrapped at some point. It seemed like this might be the moment when he could reasonably escape. He held up his phone as he stood up, picking up his jacket and trying to look nonchalant, as though he hadn't been planning his escape all day.

"I gotta go take care of something for work," he told Sarah as she followed him to the door.

The look on her face screamed disbelief and annoyance. "Really, Kurt? On Christmas Day? You can't get them to leave you alone even for one day?" She sighed in exasperation. As frustrated and numb as he felt, he could understand her displeasure, and he imagined that if he was her, he'd feel the same way. After all, she didn't know what he was dealing with. He tried to keep as much of his work from her as he could, mostly to protect her, but also because a lot of it was classified, so he really _couldn't_ tell her. And this whole thing with Jane? Even before the events of the past twenty-four hours, he hadn't been able to explain it to _himself_ , must less Sarah.

Sarah was accustomed to him not being able to give him any real answers, and even to the demands of his job, but she always got snippy when the job intruded on the holidays. She was the matriarch of the family, after all, and prided herself on trying with all her might to hold what was left of their family together. At the same time, she was so proud of her brother. She couldn't begrudge him the fact that he had such an important job… at least, not too much.

He sighed apologetically, wishing that he could tell her something, but knowing that a small part of the story wouldn't be enough for her, especially when the truth involved Jane. He looked her directly in the eyes, hoping that he looked sincere but feeling like all he was conveying was exhaustion. "I'm sorry, Sarah. I wasn't supposed to be on today, but… well, you know how it is…" At least that much, that he hadn't been scheduled to work today, had been the truth. And she _did_ know how it went with his job. It was far from the first time he'd had to run out at a time when she wanted him to stay.

Sarah sighed and smiled at him sadly. "I know, it's not easy having a superhero for a brother. Alright, Captain America, go out and save the world. We'll talk about _that_ " she looked down at his bandaged hand again, "later." He smiled weakly back at her, suddenly feeling even guiltier than he already had that he couldn't share more with her. She tried so hard to take care of him, and he made it so very difficult.

"Thanks for understanding," he whispered gratefully. "I don't know how long I'll be, but I'll see you later." She nodded, smiling at him warmly, and was momentarily surprised when he leaned down and kissed her cheek quickly before reaching for the door and walking through it. She stared after him suspiciously as he disappeared down the hall, wondering what exactly was going on with her brother. He had always been so hard to read, ever since Taylor had disappeared when they were little.

Now Taylor was back, except that she was Jane now… it was all so confusing. The only thing she knew for sure was that since Taylor, or Jane, or whoever she was, had shown back up in her brother's life, he had been different somehow. She couldn't help but think that whatever was going on today, it had something to do with her. Just call it a hunch. No matter, she'd question him eventually, and either he'd tell her, or he'd stonewall her like he usually did. She just hoped that everything was okay with him.

…

Weller watched the elevator doors close and exhaled loudly as he sagged back against the cold metal wall for the short ride to the lobby of his building. His family had been exhausting to deal with when all he had so desperately wanted was to retreat inside his own head, and yet, at the same time, in a way it had done him good to be distracted for a while. He felt calmer than he had that morning, less volatile, less likely to punch anything… at least at that moment.

He found where his car was parked in front of his building, and climbed into the driver's seat, buckling his seatbelt but not moving to turn on the engine. Thinking back on the last twenty four hours, he realized that his car shouldn't even have _been_ at his building, and contemplated how it had gotten back there. It had been parked at Jane's safe house after he'd driven over there the previous night, and Zapata had driven him home that morning. He could only assume that they'd had someone move his car back to his building. Mayfair was always looking out for him like that.

He sighed heavily, looking out at the street outside of his car. There were fewer people out today because of the holiday, but there were people coming and going nonetheless. He watched them, envying the simplicity with which he could only assume that they lived their lives. After all, there couldn't be _too many_ people whose problems were quite as complicated as his… Then again, he told himself, everyone thinks their own problems are worse than other people's. It's just human nature. He rested the back of his head on the headrest behind him and exhaled slowly, attempting to make sense of the day.

He sat there for five or ten minutes, allowing himself to be lost in vague thoughts that weren't leading anywhere in particular, except perhaps to driving himself crazy, when his phone beeped in his pocket. He'd forgotten that he'd had a text from Mayfair earlier that he hadn't had a chance to read. He pulled his phone out now and opened the earlier message.

It read, _She withdrew $100 from the ATM by her safe house at 5 am, but otherwise we have no other leads yet._

He felt frustration growing inside him, and he quickly clicked to the new message, also from Mayfair, sent just a minute before. It read, _Nothing new yet, but we are working on it. We're going to find her, Weller._

Kurt sighed again and closed his eyes. Mayfair knew him too well. She was not a woman to give false assurances, and she knew that he was not the kind of agent who needed his hand held when things got difficult. However, it was clear that she also knew how he was going to react in this particular situation, and she was giving him just a little more reassurance than she usually would. The pain in his chest intensified again. He was exhausted from the roller coaster of emotions he'd been on that day, and he couldn't even bring himself to feel angry anymore.

 _Had_ she betrayed him? Now that he could be somewhat rational, it was time to sort through the facts. He supposed that it depended on how you looked at it. If he could see Jane as two different people – Jane before and Jane after, then no, she hadn't. If he saw her as one person, just Jane (keeping that name even though it hadn't been hers before, just for simplicity), then obviously she _had_ betrayed him.

He knew that she'd been telling him the truth when she'd said that she didn't remember who she'd been, all those months when she had desperately wanted to remember… how ironic, then, that now that she had learned even a little bit of the truth, it had been every bit as bad as she'd feared, possibly worse. Surely, she had never expected this particular outcome.

But hadn't he himself been the one to tell her on more than one occasion that she didn't have to be the person that she'd been back in the time that she didn't remember? That she could make new choices and be whoever it was that she wanted to be? He _had_ said that, and he'd meant it. So wouldn't it be rather hypocritical of him now to hold her responsible for something that she had no memory of doing, after telling her that she couldn't do that to _herself_? Yes, it certainly would, he realized.

What's more, knowing her, she was probably beating herself up more than enough over this as it was. That was why she'd left. She always seemed to shoulder the blame for things, even when she shouldn't.

 _Just like you._ The coincidence wasn't lost on him.

Now, thinking back to the night before, it all made sense. That was _exactly_ what she'd been doing, when she wouldn't, or couldn't, tell him why she was so upset. He shook his head slowly. _Had that been only last night? It felt like a lifetime ago._

 _She felt like she'd betrayed you, and she couldn't bear it_. Suddenly, it was all so clear. Why hadn't he seen it before?

 _You couldn't see it at first, because last night you didn't have all of the information, and then this morning you were so angry, you wouldn't let yourself see it_. He hung his head, wondering what he could have done differently that would have meant that she wouldn't have run. She'd been afraid of his reaction. _And rightly so,_ he thought, looking down at the bandage on his hand. _And now she's out there somewhere, thinking that you'll never forgive her, and…_

He couldn't even finish the thought. He had to find her, had to tell her that he wasn't angry with her. Not anymore. He couldn't let anything happen to her. She had been through more than enough, and now she'd forced herself into exile. No, he _had_ to find her.

Just like that, he had the car started and put into gear, and he was pulling out into the street, now filled with a desperate need to find her somehow. But how? Where? The city was huge. Where would he start? He considered getting in touch with Mayfair, but decided that she'd probably just tell him that they had it under control, and that they'd keep him updated. But Jane was out there, and there was no way he was going to just sit around and wait to be updated.

Without really thinking about it, he drove to Jane's safe house, and then started driving in an expanding grid outward from there. It seemed unlikely that she'd been _too_ close by, but he had to start somewhere, and that was as good a place as any. He felt better, if suddenly slightly crazed, like he had been awoken in the middle of a strange dream and only just realized something that he should have known all along.

Hours later, he'd seen a whole lot of the city, but no sign of Jane. It didn't surprise him, really. The chances of running into her randomly were almost zero. No, he had to think. If anyone knew her, it was him. If anyone should be able to figure her out, it should have been him. So what was the lead that he should follow?

He sighed, and pulled the car up along the curb. He'd happened to be near one of his favorite spots in the city, a small scenic overlook of the Hudson River with a view of the Statue of Liberty in the distance. There was nothing spectacular about it, and it was often full of tourists… but maybe that was why he liked it. It tended to be full of life. People there, enjoying themselves, all different kinds of people. It was a great spot for people watching. Many people expected him to dislike such a pastime, since he spent so much time analyzing people as part of his job, but on the contrary, he enjoyed it immensely. Besides, he needed to get out of the car for a while and clear his head anyway.

Weller had been in the car for hours, and the temperature outside had dropped a little more than he'd expected. It had been unseasonably warm for the past few days, but still, the air was chilly as he walked toward the water. It was dark now, so the crowds had thinned and it was quiet, the lights from the buildings across the water, and the distant shape of the Statue of Liberty, lighting up the darkness with pinpricks of light. He leaned on the railing and, wondering if he would regret it, thought back to the previous time he'd stood in that very spot.

He'd been standing there next to Jane on the first day they'd met. After endless hours of interrogation, the FBI had had the audacity to "forget" to prep a safe house for her, and no one had noticed until Weller had inquired about it. Mayfair had told him that she'd let him know as soon as it was ready, and he didn't have the heart to make Jane sit in that sterile interrogation room any longer. Instead, he'd told Mayfair to text him when the safe house was prepped, and he'd brought her here.

It had been dark that time, too. He remembered it like it was yesterday, though months had passed since then. Back then he couldn't possibly have imagined all the things that would happen to the two of them, or _between_ the two of them, for that matter. At the same time, in some ways he had felt like he'd known from the first day. It was something about her eyes, he thought.

 _Funny,_ he mused, _I don't feel like the same person I was that day anymore._

Suddenly he was once again overwhelmed by the weight of it all, and as he leaned against the railing, he dropped his head and closed his eyes, exhaling loudly. _It can't end like this,_ he pleaded silently. _It just can't._

…

Not too far away, in the shadow of a cluster of trees, a figure dressed in black watched Weller carefully, reading his every movement as best she could in the dark, trying to assess his body language for signs that would tell her what she needed to know. She had lasted exactly _one day_ , and now she had already broken down and practically turned herself in. It was so tempting, with him right there in front of her. Still, though she wanted nothing more than to go straight over to him and find out once and for all whether he would be able to forgive her, she was afraid… because what if he said no?

She continued to watch him as he stood against the railing with his head down almost to his chest in front of him. She couldn't see his face, but his posture made it appear that he wasn't so much angry as… sad. She wished there was a way to be sure, however.

 _Such a coward,_ the voice in her head taunted her.

 _I'm not ready,_ she protested.

It was quickly becoming clear to her that despite her intentions when she had left in the middle of the previous night, she was not going to be able to stay away from him. Not when there was so much uncertainly. If he hated her, and he sent her away, that would be one thing. But not knowing for sure whether he had forgiven her or not… she couldn't stand it. The chance that she _didn't_ have to banish herself after all was just too tempting an idea to let go of it completely. She had apparently underestimated the pull he had on her, and overestimated her ability to just walk away from him.

Still, she remained in the shadows, simply watching. In one way, even just seeing him at a distance helped to calm the ache in her chest that she'd been trying to push aside all day long. In another way, however, it only made her feel worse. At the moment he didn't seem irrationally angry. He'd been there looking out at the water for at least an hour when he suddenly straightened up and then, without a backward glance at the water, started walking back to his car. She remained where she was, following him with her eyes. This was her chance, and yet… she couldn't bring herself to move. Would she get this chance again? Suddenly she was panicked, frozen with indecision.

She wanted to chase after him, but…

The voice in her head was right. She _was_ a coward. She exhaled a shaky breath as she watched him go, wondering if she would get this chance again.

…

The stop at the waterfront had done him good, but after a while he knew he was wallowing in thoughts that weren't going to help him, and he decided that he needed to leave. He'd had the strangest sensation that he was being watched while he stood there, but he decided he was just exhausted and it was making him paranoid. He decided that he'd drive around for a little while longer and then head home, hoping that Sarah would have gone to bed and that he could avoid that conversation for tonight. What he really needed was to sleep at least a little and try to decide what he was going to do next.

He was at a loss. Maybe he'd have to just show up at the office tomorrow and make Mayfair realize that he was ready to be back on the investigation. That would be his back-up plan. He glanced once more at the waterfront before he shifted the car into gear. As far as he could see, it was just as empty as it had been a few minutes ago. He sighed heavily and pulled the car out onto the street, into the thinned out traffic of the city.

…

When she lost track of Weller's silhouette around the corner as he walked to his car, she slowly allowed herself to emerge from the shadow of the cluster of trees she'd been concealing herself behind. She couldn't believe that he'd come back here. They'd been here that first day together, back when she'd been so lost, and he'd offered her words of comfort and a friendly face. That had meant _everything_ to her. Because of that, this place, to her, was the most peaceful place in the bustling city, the one she had sought out on purpose, hoping to find comfort here. Hoping that feeling closer to him by being here would dull the pain.

She hadn't expected to actually _see him_ here. How often did he come here, anyway? She didn't feel like he could've been here much in the months since that day, because so much of that time had been spent with her, mostly at work. Would he come back here again? If so, how long would it be before that happened? Of course, she _could_ march right into FBI headquarters whenever she wanted to, or wait outside his apartment building like she'd already done once before, but… if he came back here, she could watch him first, try to figure out more about how he was feeling. Figure out how _she_ was feeling, for that matter.

 _Don't kid yourself_ , the voice in her head told her in an unamused tone, _you_ _ **know**_ _how you feel._ She sighed to herself. It was true. Things had only become clearer to her in the past twenty four hours.

She walked slowly, trailing her fingers along the railing that ran parallel the waterfront, all the way to the spot where Weller had been a few minutes before. It was the same spot where the two of them had stood on the first day they'd met. Would she have done things differently then, if she'd known what she knew now? It was such a hard question to answer. Hindsight was always 20/20. It was a luxury you never got when you tried to look into the future.

And yet, when she really thought about it, she didn't think she would have changed much if she'd been given the chance. It was like she'd told Kurt in the letter that she'd written him: if all this was the cost of what she'd shared with him, of that perfect kiss between them, then she couldn't really have regrets. What she _did_ feel, however, was… sadness. Emptiness.

Now that she was able to think more clearly about things, she wondered about the other woman that she'd been before. Clearly, she was someone remarkable in some way. But it wasn't her amazing skills that she wondered about. The one thing that she most wanted to know about that woman wasn't even her name. Not anymore. Maybe she'd been Taylor, maybe she hadn't.

The thing she most wanted to know now was why she had chosen Kurt, and what she had chosen him _for_. She wanted to believe that when she'd "chosen" him, her motives had been good ones. After all, all these tattoos seemed to be leading them toward solving crimes, righting wrongs. That wasn't necessarily a _bad_ thing. The method that she'd used was a bit insane, of course, but had her intentions been good? What had made her choose Kurt? What had she learned about him from watching him? Had the "other her" known more about him that she did now? She felt almost jealous of herself at the thought of the possibility, which she knew was ridiculous, but she couldn't help it.

She sighed, knowing that she would probably have to accept that she would never get the answers to these questions. At least, not unless Oscar decided to reappear and suddenly tell her everything. Considering their last meeting, and the fact that she hadn't exactly don't what he – er, _she herself_ – had asked her to do, this didn't seem extremely likely.

Shivering in the cold right air, she decided to walk for a while. Her swirling thoughts were leading her somewhere, she just didn't quite know where that would be. Not yet.

 _A/N: Hang in there with me guys, I don't think Jane and Kurt will be apart too much longer. I'll do my best to update just as fast as I've been doing throughout this story. I don't think I've ever been nearly this good about updating, but I'm a bit obsessed with this one myself! :)_


	8. All of It

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: Yes, this is the one. Enjoy! :)_

December twenty sixth dawned cold and clear, with one of the most beautiful sunrises in Weller's memory. And he could say this for sure, because he'd been staring out his bedroom window since before the faintest light had appeared in the sky. It was as if the universe was playing some terrible joke on him, however, giving him something so breathtaking to look at on the day when he was perhaps least able to appreciate it. It seemed wrong that the world should go on turning and everyone else's lives should continue as usual while his seemed to have stopped.

Now, hours later, he was still sitting in the same position, in the chair by his window, as the sun was finally beginning to peak between the buildings that blocked his view of the horizon. He'd given up on sleeping after tossing and turning in his bed for several hours, not having dozed off for more than a few minutes at a time, and each time being jarred awake by horrible images of things that he imagined might have happened to Jane. He knew he looked like hell, and he didn't really care. All he knew was that he couldn't keep going like this, not knowing where Jane was or if she was okay. This was Taylor all over again, except that it was a thousand times worse. He knew a lot more about the world than his ten year old self had, and he knew a lot more about the horrible things that could happen to a person out there. His imagination had, of course, started with the scarier ones.

He'd come in late enough the night before that Sarah had long since gone to bed, so he hadn't had to face her then, but he had no allusions about the fact that he wouldn't be so lucky for too much longer. Sometime soon, she was going to corner him for a major interrogation. He just hoped it wasn't going to happen before this mess was over, because right now he just couldn't do it. It was all he could do to stare blankly out the window, much less form coherent thoughts and, heaven forbid, sentences.

It was as though his brain had ceased to function for anything useful. No, it seemed to be working solely to torture him. For hours now he'd been staring at the world outside his window, and yet all the while watching an endless stream of images float past his eyes… all of them of Jane.

…In the interrogation room the first day they'd met, when she'd put one hand on his hand and the other on his face, and he'd felt a jolt almost like electricity…

…Riding beside her in the SUV, so many different times...

…Yelling at her for not staying in the car, trying to make her understand that he simply _could not_ lose her, again, and apparently failing miserably, judging by the pissed off look on her face…

…In the screens room, when they were focused on the pictures of her tattoos, or on a case, or focused on Mayfair while she talked about a case… there were a lot of those flashbacks, because they'd been there so many times over the last few months…

…During the lockdown at the CDC, the first time she'd called him Kurt…

…In the hallway at the FBI, when he'd put her hand over his heart to stop her panic attack, telling her to breathe, the look on her face making him think that she might shatter into a million pieces at any second…

…When she'd told him that by trying to make her Taylor, she was putting too much pressure on her, because she didn't even know that girl, and that she didn't know how to be the person that he'd lost…

…At her safe house, when she'd put _his_ hand over _her_ heart and told him that he was her starting point…

…Standing outside the elevators at work after they'd both failed so miserably at dealing with each other "objectively," when she'd told him that maybe the baggage he had was what made him "the right guy for the job…"

…Then the one memory that _wasn't_ of Jane, but of Zapata, in the woods, when she pointed out to him matter-of-factly that Jane _wasn't_ just an FBI asset to him…

…When they'd been on the plane soon after Zapata's bombshell, which had apparently been a surprise only to _him_ , when Jane had been so terrified by the turbulence that without giving it a second thought, he had grabbed her hands and teased good-naturedly her about flying a helicopter with no problem, but being unable to deal with turbulence…

…The look in her eyes when she'd called him out for not sharing his thoughts with her, when he'd been pissed with Mayfair about Daylight… _I should have told her, but… it wasn't my secret to tell._ Still, he wished that he'd told her…

…When she'd told him that she didn't know what it felt like to be let down, because no one on the team had ever let her down… _Well, you've sure taken care of that one, haven't you?_ He cringed, because he'd let her down in the worst way possible.

…The way his head spun when he saw her in that dress the day they went undercover together. He'd lost all touch with reality for just a second, completely forgotten that Allison was even standing there in front of him, talking to him about rehashing the "good old days," or whatever she'd thought they were. No, there was no one in the room with him at that moment but Jane…

…The personal questions that she'd asked him as they danced that day – the kind of questions that most people just don't ask each other – that he hadn't thought twice about answering honestly, because she was the one asking. He would've told her anything… and the look on her face when he'd told her that he had never been married because he was "too choosy," how she'd blushed when he'd stared into her eyes and they she'd looked away… _And yet, you did nothing_ , the voice observed. _You're an idiot._ He couldn't argue with that.

…And of course, the one that haunted him the most, the night that she'd been waiting outside his apartment building. How she'd been the one to kiss him, and at that moment he'd finally realized what somewhere inside, he'd known all along…

And then he'd been stupid enough to let her walk home alone – him, the guy who was always so paranoid about her safety. This was all his fault, going all the way back to that night. If he'd just kept her safe, hadn't given Carter's men the chance to abduct her, she never would have needed that _Oscar_ (he couldn't even _think_ the man's name without an icy tone) to rescue her, wouldn't have learned what she learned…

 _She would have found out eventually, and you would have too. Nothing you might have done differently that night would have changed the past._

He knew that it was the truth, but it was easier to blame himself now that he wasn't angry with her anymore. Besides, if she'd found out in a different way, at a different time, maybe she wouldn't have felt like she'd needed to protect him from the truth, like she'd needed to run away.

 _Maybe,_ his mind conceded _, but it doesn't change anything now._

It was ridiculous, he knew, because torturing himself wasn't helping. He needed to clear his head, form a plan, do something _useful._ But he just couldn't.

He was stuck in an endless loop of Jane.

 _And this is why Mayfair wanted you off the case,_ he thought, finally realizing why it made sense not to work investigations when your emotions were compromised. He'd never had this problem before. Even when he was investigating Jane's tattoos, he was still able to function just fine, even if he acted slightly over protectively towards her at first. But this was _so_ different. It had been twenty four hours since he'd woken up and found her gone. That was it, just 1 full day. It felt like it had been an eternity.

He forced himself to stand up and stretched stiffly, grabbing a sweatshirt from his closet to layer over his t-shirt and jeans. Opening the door a crack, he looked to see if there was any sign of Sarah, but the living room was silent and dark. The digital clock in his bedroom said 7:13, so maybe she'd slept in. It was funny, he felt like it had been days since he'd arrived home last night, but really, it had been less than five hours. Closing his door silently, he headed across the living room for the front door, stopping only to grab his keys and slip on his shoes. Before he knew it, he was back in the elevator.

 _Where are you going?_ he asked himself. The truth was, he had no idea what he could do next that would be useful. He figured he'd go into headquarters and try to find something he could do to help. He knew the looks he was going to get from his coworkers, but he didn't care. None of it mattered, only finding Jane. The only thing that he knew for sure was that he desperately needed to wake up from this nightmare.

In a matter of minutes he was in the car, weaving through the almost empty streets, driving on autopilot. He'd planned to go to work, but was somewhat surprised to find that when he stopped the car, he was back at the curb by the same waterfront overlook where he'd stood for so long the previous night.

Shrugging to himself – because as long as he was here, why not hang out for a little while and try to collect his thoughts? – he got out of the car. He didn't even know what had possessed him to come here. But it's not as though he had anywhere he _had_ to be, so he had plenty of time to spare. No matter what time he walked into the office, they would tell him that they were doing everything they could, that they had it under control, that he really should go home and get some rest – which was out of the question anyway – or some variation thereof. No, he might as well try to calm his racing thoughts. Not that it would work.

…

She'd walked for hours the night before – because what else was she going to do, really? – and then ended up back in the cluster of trees where she'd been hidden when Weller had showed up earlier. The park felt like a special place, which wasn't too much of a surprise. After all, it was one of the few places in the city that meant something to her, somewhere that reminded her of him. There wasn't really a good place to sleep out in the open, but she'd sat on the ground and leaned against the trunks of the small trees and at least been able to rest, even if she hadn't slept. She knew that this wasn't going to work in the long term – if she ended up needing a long term solution – but she simply couldn't bring herself to go elsewhere. The longer this went on, the more she realized that she couldn't do it, couldn't just walk away from him without looking back, despite what she'd told herself.

Sitting in that park didn't make any sense. She _knew_ that. She told herself that she should move along, find a homeless shelter or something… and yet, when the sun came up the next morning, she was still there, leaning back against the trees and staring bleary eyed at the sky, the water. Wondering if this spectacular sunrise was something unusual, she closed her eyes and tried to ignore the ache in her chest that she couldn't get rid of. No sunrise that she could remember had been so beautiful, and it seemed ironic, considering how empty she felt, to be witnessing something so powerful. Sighing heavily, she opened her eyes and looked back out at the water. She'd been the only one in the park for hours now, but she knew that on such a beautiful day, that wouldn't last much longer.

A car door slammed in the distance, but didn't think anything of it. In the city, you didn't need to be able to see a car to hear any of the many different noises it might make, and a door slamming was one of the less interesting ones. Even the blare of angry horns didn't phase her anymore, not like it once had. Sighing, she scanned the waterfront for runners, bikers, anything or anyone that she could watch and invent a back story for in her mind. It was an amusing enough way to pass the time, and she had nothing but time.

Movement caught her eye back toward the other side of the park, where several benches sat, slightly set back from the water and closer to the street, overlooking the grassy field in the middle of the park. During the day it was unusual to find them empty, but at this hour, whoever it was had their pick of seating, being the first one to arrive. She shifted herself in her hiding place between the trees to get a better view of the newcomer, careful not to give herself away. Suddenly, however, she found herself grabbing onto the trees for support as her legs almost gave out underneath her and her breath caught in her throat. It was Kurt.

He sat on the bench, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and his head in his hands. He sat that way for a long moment, then sat back and ran his fingers across his face and through his exceptionally disheveled hair. He looked like hell… and yet at the same time, he had never looked better to her. The way he looked, it was exactly how she felt.

She felt her already wavering resolve immediately begin melting away. But the question remained, was he still angrywith her? There was no doubt in her mind that he had been angry, and she noticed with concern that one of his hands was bandaged with white gauze. That couldn't be good… so the question was whether he was _still_ angry. Try as she might from where she stood, she just couldn't tell. She watched him for what felt like hours, and didn't feel like she was any closer to knowing for sure.

 _Face it,_ her inner voice coaxed her, _if you want to find out for sure if he has forgiven you or not, you're going to have to talk to him._ She sighed, knowing that that stupid inner voice was right, and hating it. It seemed like such a risk to take, and she couldn't honestly say that she wasn't afraid.

 _You're not afraid to run towards dirty bombs, but you're afraid that Weller's angry with you?_ She knew full well that it didn't make sense, but it was the truth.

As she watched him, he slowly pushed himself to stand up, and she was afraid that once again, she was about to see him walk away. Suddenly she realized that she simply couldn't let that happen again. She took a tentative step out of the trees, but then froze, waiting to see what was going to happen. This time, however, instead of walking away toward his car, he walked in her general direction, toward the water. She remained frozen where she stood, watching as he came closer to her. She was off to the side of the spot where they'd both stood the previous night, one at a time, but she was close enough to him that, when he stopped again at the same point along the railing, she could see his expression.

He was staring straight out at the water, looking exhausted and dazed and therefore not aware of her presence, so even halfway out of her hiding place, she could still watch him without being noticed.She remained as _still as a statue_ , knowing that if he looked in her direction he would see her, unsure of what to do.

 _What more of a sign do you_ _ **need**_ _?_ her mind screamed. _The worst thing that can happen is that he hates you, right? But think of what happens if he_ _ **doesn't**_ _…_

She breathed deeply, trying to steady herself.

 _Isn't it worth the risk? Isn't_ _ **HE**_?

Why did her inner voice have to be right? And it was _so_ right. She had absolutely nothing left to lose, but everything important to her in the world to gain.

…

He'd been sitting on the bench for a while, then decided that he was restless and didn't want to sit, and yet, he also wasn't ready to leave. He stood and walked forward slowly toward the water, feeling restless and yet exhausted with every step, and wondering how in the world he would manage to get through another day like this. Leaning against the railing, he couldn't help but hang his head just as he had done the night before, closing his eyes and once again, wondering what he could have done differently, what he could have done to stop her from leaving… from leaving _him._ This feeling was heart-breakingly familiar, and he feared that he would never break free of it.

Though he never would have thought it possible, how he felt now was _worse_ that it had been with Taylor. It had always been commonly accepted that she'd been kidnapped. What happy five year old girl would disappear in the night on her own? No, it was obvious that someone had taken her, and that had been bad enough. But Jane? Jane had left _voluntarily._ Yes, she had had her reasons, however noble, but that didn't change the fact that she had gone by choice. She had _chosen_ to leave him. How was he supposed to deal with that?

…

She saw his head tilt forward again until it almost touched his chest, just like the night before, saw his eyes close and watched him appear to be struggling with something.

 _That should look familiar to you,_ the voice in her head said, _that's just how you look._ _ **Lost.**_

In that second, she felt a surge of bravery run through her, and she stepped silently out the rest of the way from the trees. Enough was enough. The truth was, she couldn't move on until she knew whether he was going to reject her or not. _And yes_ , she said in answer to the question that she had asked herself a little while before, _he's worth the risk_.

She tiptoed to the railing, and then walked along it, slowly and silently, until she was about four feet away from him, where she stopped nervously, gripping the railing in her right hand so tightly that within seconds, her knuckles were white. Now did she wait for him to open his eyes, or did she say something? She decided on something in between, and she cleared her throat quietly. Staring directly at him, she felt herself shake with nervous anticipation. There was no going back now.

He heard the noise of someone clearing their throat nearby, which surprised him, because there hadn't been anyone else there a moment ago when he'd closed his eyes. It didn't seem like it mattered if anyone was near him, but he opened his eyes out of absolutely minimal curiosity… and found himself looking into the very eyes that he'd been searching for.

His mind screeched to a halt. _It was Jane. She was right in front of him._

For a few seconds, he just stood and stared at her, unsure that he was actually seeing her there, that hadn't simply become delusional with exhaustion and desperation. His brain had yet to register the reality of the situation – that Jane had just appeared before his eyes – and therefore his expression hadn't changed yet, either. He was just _that_ shocked.

Jane, for her part, stood and stared at Weller anxiously, watching him stare at her and say nothing, do nothing, not move, not even change the expression on his face. _I must have misread him_ , she thought, suddenly terrified that she'd made a mistake, _because this doesn't look like the face of someone who's glad to see me._

Was this actually happening to him? Had she really just appeared in front of him? Surely she couldn't be real… but as he stared at her, his brain refusing to process the image and accept the fact that yes, it was her, and therefore transfer the order for his face to react appropriately, he saw her face begin to fall. He knew he needed to say something, do something, _anything_ , so that he didn't just stay there, frozen, and let her misunderstand his reaction.

 _Say something,_ he ordered himself frantically.

Just as she was considering whether she should turn and run the other direction, his face softened and she heard him whisper one word, as if in disbelief. " _Jane_." Suddenly, she felt the muscles in her face quiver and she suddenly knew that she was about to dissolve in tears and lose her composure completely.

She tried to force her voice to come out, but succeeded in only producing a whisper, the two words that she had most wanted to say to him in person.

"I'm sorry."

It broke his heart to hear her say that, because it only confirmed to him that she had been torturing herself, exactly as he thought she had. He shook his head slowly but emphatically, and whispered, "No, don't be sorry. You have nothing to be sorry for."

That was enough for her to lose the rest of whatever had been holding her together since she'd left her safe house those endless hours ago, and she felt the tears on her cheeks before she even realized that she was crying. Unable to hold it in, her eyes shut tightly of their own accord, as the tears continued to flow from her eyes. Her hand on the railing squeezed hard and harder, and he wondered if she was hurting herself without even knowing it.

They were still standing four feet away from each other, both of them having been afraid to move any closer, but now Weller walked slowly toward her, not wanting to startle her but needing to be near her, to stop her from crying. He still couldn't believe that she was really _there_.

In seconds he reached where she was standing and stopped a few inches in front of her, resting his hands tentatively on her biceps, and felt her take a long, deep breath at the contact, her sobs slowing slightly. He leaned down so that his forehead touched hers gently, and whispered her name again.

There was something about the way he said her name. She realized that there always had been. It wasn't like the way anyone else said it, and yet she couldn't identify what it was about the _way_ he said it that was different. Maybe it was just that it was… _him_.

All she knew was, her knees felt a little bit weak just then. She opened her eyes and leaned her head back slightly as he lifted his forehead off of hers, and found him staring at her intently, the same way he always did. The look was familiar and comforting. It was suddenly hard to catch her breath… she couldn't believe that this was real.

"It's not your fault," he whispered to her. She almost smiled then, as if he'd told her a joke, and he looked confused.

"Now I understand why it was so hard for you to believe it when _I_ said it to _you_ ," she told him softly, her smile turning sad. He smiled then too, just a little, remembering that night, and pulling his arms all the way around her in a tight hug, so that he could _finally_ reassure himself that this was actually happening, that she wasn't a figment of his imagination. She finally allowed herself to let go of the railing, and he felt her arms wrap around his waist. She held on just as tight as he did, both of them seeming to be holding on for dear life.

After what felt like a long time, and yet nowhere near long enough, he reluctantly pulled back just enough so that he could look at her. His hands moved to her shoulders, at which time she once again noticed the white bandage around his right hand. "What _happened?"_ she asked him with concern, glancing between the bandage and his face.

"I, uh… I punched a mirror." He watched her gasp in surprise, then added, "You know, the one by the front door at your house." Her eyes grew wide, but she said nothing. In that case, there was no doubt in her mind that _she'd_ been directly responsible for his injury.

Then, as long as he was confessing, he told her, "And I threw that little Christmas tree across the room, and it hit the opposite wall, I think. And I stomped on that bag of ornaments and then kicked it up in the air. There was glass _everywhere_." She was almost laughing now, to his surprise. He just looked down at the ground, still holding on to her shoulders, and added sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I guess I didn't take things very well."

She considered this for a minute, looking at him intently though he was still looking at the ground. She didn't want to know, and yet she absolutely _had_ to ask. "Were you so angry more because of, uh," she paused, stuck on which pronoun to use. _It wasn't you_ , she reminded herself, and forced the rest of the sentence out before she could lose her nerve. "… _her_ , uh… mission, or more because I left?" He heard the fear in her voice and knew that his answer was very important to her, but he also knew that he had to be honest.

"At first, it was both," he said, looking up at her apologetically. "It was a shock. I don't like to think what I would have said to you if you'd been there… but I wish you hadn't felt like you had to run away. I just needed… time to process it." She nodded, feeling numb on that particular subject.

"I was afraid to see the look in your eyes when you realized that I'd betrayed you. Because that's the last thing that I would ever want to do," she whispered. It was her turn to look apologetic.

He smiled then, and moved his good hand from her shoulder to her cheek, and stroking his thumb back and forth slowly against her skin. The motion was giving her goosebumps. "I know," he replied softly.

They stared at each other for a long minute before she said quietly, "I'm sorry I was such a coward." She looked down at the ground, not wanting to meet his eyes.

He shook his head, continuing to stroke her cheek gently and looking at her in disbelief.

"You are a lot of things," he finally told her, speaking slowly, "but a coward is _not_ one of them."

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply, clearly not believing him. "Actually," he added without missing a beat, "you're one of the bravest people I know." A pained smile appeared on her face, and he saw a tear escape from the corner of her eye. He captured it with his thumb easily. She slowly opened her eyes to look at him, leaning ever so slightly into the hand her had on her cheek.

She was still in disbelief that he was there in front of her, that he didn't hate her, much less that he was calling her brave. _Her_ , of all people, the one who had run away rather than face him. She shook her head just a little, not enough for his hand to leave her face, then pursed her lips and whispered, "I don't deserve you." Her eyes went back to the ground.

 _Does she really think that?_ he wondered.

"That's where you're wrong," he replied quickly. "And you won't convince me otherwise, so you might as well give up now." She looked back up slowly to see him smiling back at her, really, genuinely smiling. It wasn't a look that she saw on his face too often, and she couldn't help but mirror it back at him. She felt almost giddy all of a sudden, now that relief was beginning to set in.

 _He doesn't hate me._ It was absolutely too good to be true.

Suddenly he realized that there was a phone call he needed to make, sooner than later. Jane watched as Kurt carefully took his phone out of his pocket with his bandaged hand, leaving the other one on her cheek, unlocked the screen and called Mayfair. He held the phone up to his ear and continued to stare into her eyes, smiling the same slight smile that she was accustomed to. It was like heaven.

Their boss answered almost immediately, her voice full of compassion, as if she was ready to give him the bad news that they had no new leads, but Weller almost cut her off, saying simply, "I found her. I found Jane." He kept his voice calm, almost amazed, but the happiness bled through in his tone. The relief in Mayfair's voice on the other end of the phone was obvious, and he promised her that they'd be in soon for debriefing.

Weller ended the call and put his phone back in his pocket, taking her left hand in his bandaged right hand, his eyes only leaving her face for a second and then going right back. He felt the need to hold on to her as tangibly as possible, as if he was afraid that if he didn't, she would disappear.

Suddenly he remembered the team's arrival at the safe house on Christmas Day, and he looked at Jane seriously. "Mayfair…" he began, but wasn't sure how to continue. He wasn't ready to break the spell between the two of them. Not yet.

It was as though Jane read his mind. "She read my letter?" He just nodded. "And Zapata and Reade, too?" He nodded again. She sighed and looked slightly embarrassed, but then she smiled again. The movement of the muscles in her face tugged his hand, which hadn't left her skin, along with it. "Well, the secrets are all out then, I guess," she said with a shrug, leaning her face against his hand again. "I hope she's not _too_ mad at me," she added sheepishly.

"They're all going to be glad that you're okay. _Almost_ as glad as I am," he told her, fixing his usual, intense gaze on her.

She looked at him suspiciously then, as if something had just occurred to her. "How far did you make it before you crumpled up the letter and stopped reading?" Now that things seemed to be good between them, she really wanted to know.

Weller looked taken aback for a second, and he blushed slightly beneath the scruff on his face. _How the hell could she know that?_

Her smile grew wide, and in a teasing tone she said, "I knew it!" He looked down for a second, blushing harder, but when he looked back up at her he was smiling despite himself. "So you didn't read the end?" she asked teasingly.

"No," he replied. "Why? What did I miss?" There was something about the way he was looking at her that told her that he knew where this was going, which only made her smile grow wider.

"Shut up," she whispered, she let go of his bandaged hand carefully, then reached her hand up to the back of his neck and leaned towards him slowly. His hand that had been on her face moved to her hair, holding on gently. She kissed him slowly. It was different than the first time, but conveyed so much emotion in that slight, delicate kiss that despite the almost innocent nature of it, she had to lean back and catch her breath.

"Sorry," she whispered, looking slightly embarrassed once again, "there's just so much…" She found that she couldn't finish her sentence. She just couldn't find the right words, and she was too mesmerized as she stared into his eyes to think straight, anyway. He watched her in amusement, knowing the feeling exactly. The hand that was still in her hair moved to the back of her head and pulled her to his chest, so that he could wrap his arms around her again, squeezing slightly and kissing the top of her head.

"Don't ever be sorry for that," he told her, and she felt her heart ache again, but this time, instead of aching from emptiness, it was because her heart felt like it was overflowing. It was all simply too good to be real. All of it.

 _A/N: So I thought (even as recently as this morning when I sat down to finish the chapter) that this was the last chapter, but now I think I need at least one more to wrap it up. I have a feeling that you guys don't mind. :) I hope I've done their reunion justice after building it up for seven chapters… please feel free to let me know._


	9. The Only One

_**Disclaimer: I do not own Blindspot. I'm just borrowing the fantastic characters so I can play with them a little bit.**_

 _A/N: This chapter may seem a little overly sappy or OOC, but I did a LOT of angsty in this story, so I'm just giving it a little balance. Besides, I admit that I really, really like cute and sappy. :) Also, I'm the first to admit that I know nothing about FBI protocols or procedures, only what I've seen on TV. If I have glaring errors, well, just call it creative license. Finally, just FYI, as you may or may not have noticed, I don't write make out scenes. I like to think I know my strengths, and I know that that's just not one of them. Besides, what these two have is deep enough that I don't even feel like it's necessary here. And now, the final chapter…_

Mayfair sighed with relief when she got off the phone with Weller. She was relieved for several reasons, but yet also tense. Of course she was glad that Jane was safe. She'd become a member of Weller's team, despite the unorthodox way that it had come about, and the team was like a family. She had no desire to see anything bad happen to the young woman; so much had happened to her already. Quite the opposite – she had defended Jane from Carter's obsessive paranoia almost since they'd first found her until Carter was mysteriously killed. As much as Jane complicated Mayfair's life, the older woman had promised herself not to abuse her power any further. The fallout from Daylight was bad enough without compounding her mistakes in the present. She refused to be that person.

Secondly, she was relieved that Jane had been found safely because it seemed that somewhere along the way, Weller had lost the ability to function without her. It was understandable, how the whole thing had unfolded between them. Whether or not Jane was indeed Taylor Shaw, in the end that was what had pulled them closer almost from the beginning. There had been so many coincidences, so many things that just seemed to fit together like a puzzle. That isotope test… no one could explain it away, so she remained a mystery.

Still, the bond between Jane and Weller was undeniable. All you had to do was watch them for a few minutes when they were in the same room to see it. It had seemed for a while that everyone could see it _except_ the two of them, but with the way Weller had responded to Jane's disappearance, Mayfair had a feeling that those days were in the past. So yes, she was glad on Weller's behalf that he'd found her. Selfishly, she was glad because she needed her lead agent. Despite her misgivings about sending Jane in the field, first because she was untrained and then later, because of the… whatever it was that seemed to be happening between the two of them, despite that, she couldn't deny that they made a good team. If Weller's judgement had been compromised by her presence, she would have pulled one of them back. On the contrary, however, they seemed to complement each other, and each had saved the other's life more than once. It had been a fascinating progression to watch.

Yes, she was glad that Jane was okay. They'd been getting along without Weller for the past few days, but in the long term, the team would have suffered from his absence.

Of course, Jane's reappearance also left her with some doubts. The stunning revelation about her past invited a whole new set of issues. If she herself had "chosen" Weller, then what had her intentions been? If she was having memories already, then what would happen if she remembered something in particular that made her a danger to the team? They knew nothing about the person that she had been, other than the amazing skill sets that she seemed to constantly be discovering. What if, along with the extremely specialized training, she also had an agenda that would be advanced by working with the FBI? What if she suddenly remember that agenda, if she was triggered somehow?

Mayfair had been reluctant about giving Jane a weapon and limited access to FBI resources when they _hadn't_ known that she had done it all to herself. Now, she felt downright anxious. The battle she foresaw ahead of her on this issue was daunting, because she knew that Weller would fight her tooth and nail against anything that he saw as an attack on Jane. But they would cross that bridge when they came to it… though she had a feeling that they'd be coming to it sooner than later.

Mayfair stood up from her desk and left her office briskly, her heels clicking down the empty hallway of the FBI building until she reached Patterson's lab. There she found Reade and Zapata seated on stools as Patterson sat in front of them, apparently in the midst of a long explanation of… something technical. Mayfair couldn't be sure what it was, but the two field agents were looking at the blonde lab tech attentively, as if they were trying hard to follow what she was saying. As she stepped into the room, Patterson saw her over Zapata's shoulder and stopped talking mid-sentence, looking at her expectantly, which caused the other two to turn and look at her as well.

"Weller just called," she said from the doorway. "He found Jane."

The other three stared at her in disbelief. Zapata was the first to speak. "Is she… okay?"

Mayfair just shrugged. "He just called me and said that he found her. He didn't tell me anything else. But knowing Weller, if there was _anything_ wrong with Jane, he would have let me know what kind of backup he needed… so I'm assuming that she's fine." She smiled slightly, watching relief wash over the rest of her team, wondering if she was the only one who had mixed feelings about Jane at the moment.

Patterson exhaled loudly. "Oh, thank _goodness_ ," she gushed with relief. After everything that had happened to her, Patterson couldn't stand the idea of losing anyone else. She was the emotional one of the team, and her heart had ached for both Jane and Weller ever since they'd been brought into the loop by Jane's letter. It had felt a little bit intrusive to read it, but Mayfair had insisted that they all needed to be on the same page, that any detail could spark a lead.

"So, what's next?" asked Reade, ever practical.

"They're going to come in to debrief in a little while, and we'll go from there. We still have a lot of questions to answer… finding Jane is just the beginning," Mayfair replied solemnly. "Why don't you three take a break until they get here? You've been here all night," she told them. "Once they're debriefed, I'm sending you all home to get some sleep. You've earned it." She smiled at them, and turned, walking back to her office to think things over.

In the lab, the three watched Mayfair turn and walk down the hall and then looked at each other for only a second before Zapata asked, "Breakfast?"

"Yes, I'm _starving!_ " Patterson replied quickly.

Reade just shook his head at the two women, rolling his eyes. "Who am I to argue with a great idea?" he asked.

"I'll get my coat, and meet you guys in the locker room," Patterson told them happily. She couldn't wait to see Jane and Weller.

…

Jane and Kurt stood by the water for a long time, his arms wrapped around her tightly, neither of them wanting to let go for long enough to walk to the car. Finally though, the exhaustion of going several nights without sleep, in Jane's case, was catching up to them, as was the fact that neither of them had eaten in longer than they could remember. Once the adrenaline began wearing off, they both started feeling a little light headed, and knew that they couldn't continue to stand there forever.

"Have you eaten anything since you, uh… since Christmas Eve?" Weller asked her, speaking softly into her ear without loosening his grip on her. He was afraid that if he did, somehow she would vanish, though he knew that it was ridiculous.

Jane shook her head slightly, only realizing at that moment that she was suddenly _very_ hungry. "No… I guess not. You?"

"Nope."

"I guess that means we have to move then," she said into his shoulder, without moving.

"Yeah," he said reluctantly. "I'm feeling kinda dead on my feet all of a sudden. When was the last time _you_ slept?"

She had to pause and think about it. "Well, not Christmas Eve, so the night before that."

His tired brain was struggling to do the math. "So today's the twenty-sixth, so… like forty-eight hours or so?" As much as he felt like hell after one night of not sleeping, it was a wonder she was still standing.

"Yeah, I guess so," she replied sheepishly. "I just couldn't sleep last night... I wouldn't have even if I'd _had_ a bed to sleep on."

"I didn't either," he replied simply, kissing her cheek, which was resting just beside his face. Her head now rested on his shoulder.

She smiled broadly, feeling like someone had given her the sun and moon. She couldn't remember ever being so happy, and she was sure that even in the life that she didn't remember, the one where she'd made such questionable choices, that she couldn't possibly ever have been this happy either. "Okay then, we'd better go," she told him, not moving a muscle.

"Yeah, we'd better," Weller agreed, also not moving whatsoever.

"We're bad at this," Jane said, laughter bubbling up from inside her.

Kurt smiled at her observation. She was absolutely right. Somehow, they were going to have to let go of each other… he just wasn't ready to do it yet. Not that he thought he _ever_ would be. "Yes, we seem to be," he agreed good-naturedly.

"But I don't want to _move_ ," Jane said in a mock pouting voice.

Kurt grinned and squeezed her a little tighter. "You know I'm coming with you though, right?" He felt the vibration as she chuckled quietly.

"Okay, if you promise," she agreed reluctantly, still not moving whatsoever.

He leaned his face against hers so that the stubble on his face brushed against her cheek as he whispered in her ear, "I promise." She couldn't help but shiver a little from the sensation. _This has to be a dream,_ she told herself, still in awe of what was happening.

She felt him pull back slowly, and lifted her head off of his shoulder as he took a small step, more like a half step, back, his hands sliding first to her shoulders, and then, as her arms dropped from around him reluctantly, trailing slowly down the backs of her arms, stopping at her elbows and then moving to her waist. Feeling slightly self-conscious under the intense look he was giving her, she smiled at him before looking down and smiling shyly.

They stood that way for a moment before she looked back up at him. "We still haven't moved," she observed, grinning. Kurt rolled his eyes at her, chuckling.

"Sorry, I can't help it," he said, his eyes remaining fixed on hers.

With a laugh she shook her head and reached up to take his uninjured left hand in her right hand, weaving their fingers together, then taking one step away from the railing and giving a tug. "Alright, alright," he mumbled with a smile. "I can see that I can't compete with food." She made a face at him as they started walking slowly, side by side, toward Weller's car, feeling so light that she could have been walking on clouds.

When they reached the SUV, he clicked the key fab and then opened the door for her, squeezing her hand one more time before letting go so she could climb into the passenger seat. He closed the door securely behind her and then walked around to the driver's side, climbing in and thinking fleetingly about how different things were now from when he'd arrived there a few hours before. Life certainly was full of surprises sometimes.

Jane had buckled her seatbelt and now she turned partway around to face him, feeling suddenly like the car was _much_ too big, because he felt very far away as he sat on the seat beside her, the center console between them. Weller started the car and shifted into _drive_ , and then held out his hand, this time his bandaged one, to Jane. She carefully laid her left hand under his hand, and then, light as a feather, stroked the top of it with her right hand, resting them on the console that separated them.

"I can't believe you punched the mirror," she said quietly, looking down at the bandage. He chuckled softly, shaking his head.

"Yeah, not one of my better decisions," he replied as he pulled out onto the road for the drive to FBI headquarters. "Though I have to say, not counting the whole 'cutting my hand on all the glass' thing and the seven years of bad luck… it looked _really cool_ with all those tiny shards of glass flying all over, reflecting the light everywhere… not that I was really in any condition to enjoy it." She looked at him in confusion, and he realized he needed to explain the seven years bad luck expression to her. "They say that if you break a mirror, you get seven years of bad luck," he glanced at her as she digested this explanation, and then back at the road.

"That's weird," she replied simply, still looking confused.

He smiled at her assessment. She wasn't wrong about that, it was just funny to hear someone say it. When you had heard an expression all your life, it was easy to forget that it didn't actually _makes sense_. "Yeah, I guess it is," he chuckled. "It's an old superstition. But clearly, bad luck didn't happen to me." He glanced at her again, feeling more and more like he was just going to be wearing a goofy smile on his face for the foreseeable future. "But I think I'm covered. I had twenty-five years of bad luck, I can stand to break a few mirrors."

She shook her head and smiled, completely amused by the sappier side of Weller, then the look on her face turned thoughtful. "Maybe," she replied slowly, "but maybe not right away? No sense in pushing your luck. Save it for accidental mirror breaking."

Weller glanced back at her and smiled, nodding. "Fair enough," he agreed. "You have a good point." She continued tracing his hand with her fingers as they rode in silence, glancing at each other every few seconds and never losing the dopey grins that adorned both of their faces. When they were almost there, Jane, who was still facing Kurt, leaned her cheek against her seat. Her eyes closed almost immediately as the soft hum of the car began lulling her to sleep.

Kurt was suddenly reminded of that same first night when he'd taken her to the park by the water, the same night that he'd dropped her off at her first safe house, when she'd fallen asleep in the car both on the way from the office to the park and then on the way from the park to the safe house. Once again, he couldn't help but be in awe over how much had changed in such a relatively short time. He glanced at their hands, still sitting entwined on the center console, with a smile.

For at least that moment, everything was right with the world.

…

They were parked in a spot in the half empty FBI parking garage, and Jane had yet to wake up. Kurt knew how desperately tired she was and he hated to wake her, but he also knew that after they got this over with, they'd probably be sent home to sleep for at least a day, if not more. It would be worth it to wake her up and go into the building, he kept telling himself… but she looked so peaceful, it seemed like such a shame. Finally, after a few minutes of fidgeting with her hands and getting no results, he reluctantly withdrew his hand from between hers then turned in his seat so that he was facing her.

"Time to wake up," he said in a low voice, then without giving himself time to think about it, he leaned forward and kissed her softly. That seemed to work better, and as he sat back a few seconds later, her eyes fluttered open slowly, a smile spreading across her face.

"I fell asleep," she observed, still a little groggy. He just nodded. "Did you just kiss me to wake me up?"

"Yep," he replied, watching for her reaction.

She just nodded her head slightly. "Best alarm clock _ever_ ," she said, still sounding sleepy. He chuckled at that, and pulled on the handle of his door, pushing it open and stepping out. She turned in her chair so that she was facing forward, stretching her weary arms and legs. Before she knew it, he had opened her door and was holding out his hand to help her out. She smiled as she took his hand, a combination of exhaustion and elation making her feel a little lightheaded. She pushed her door closed with her other hand, holding on tightly to his good hand and walking close to him.

As they waited for the elevator that would take them inside the building, Kurt could feel her hesitation. Suddenly she gripped his hand tighter, her teeth clenched, and her breathing sped up. He continued to hold her hand, but brought his free hand around to pull her in for a one handed hug, planting a kiss on the top of her head. "It's going to be fine," he whispered. "We'll figure it out, like we've done all along."

She wondered sometimes, lots of times actually, how he seemed to be able to read her so easily. She really couldn't think of another explanation besides that he could read her mind. She smiled nervously and nodded, leaning into him and exhaling a long breath. _Look at where you are,_ she told herself, _of course it's going to be okay._

They rode in comfortable silence in the elevator, her head leaning on his shoulder as they watched the numbers tick by. He could feel her loosen her grip on his hand uncertainly just before the elevator doors opened, but he held on tight, letting her know that there was no reason to let go. After all, the whole team had read her letter, she realized, so it's not as though there were any secrets left about the state of things between them. At least, the team knew almost as much as _they_ did about what was going on between them.

Walking to Mayfair's office was nerve racking, and Jane knew that she had a lot to answer for, but she tried to focus on Kurt's hand in hers, and the fact that he was beside her. At the end of the day, she had _far_ more than she'd allowed herself to hope for. As Kurt had said, they'd figure the rest of it out.

…

Debriefing with Mayfair had taken _hours_ , or it had felt like hours. She had had a lot of questions, most of which Jane felt like her answers to had been inadequate. Jane knew that her boss had a responsibility to be thorough, and in her place, she imagined that she may have acted the same way. Still, there was something about the way that Mayfair was looking at her, like she was suspicious of her. _Maybe she is,_ she thought to herself. _You have given her some serious reason for concern._

Then it was Kurt's turn to debrief with Mayfair, and Jane wandered slowly toward Patterson's lab. She was looking forward to seeing her teammates, who had become her friends over the months that she'd been working with them, but she couldn't help but feel awkward about facing them. Would they look at her the way Mayfair had? Would they still be her friends? She stood at the door of the lab, which was empty, leaning against the doorframe and looking inside hesitantly. It was rare to be there when Patterson _wasn't_ , especially lately. Ever since David's death, Patterson had spent more time than ever there, not wanting to go home to her empty apartment. Jane shuddered a little as she remembered her last conversation with Patterson about David. The one she'd talked about in Kurt's letter. The letter that they had all now read… _Let it go_ , she told herself. _There's nothing that you can do about that now._

She walked into the room and seated herself at one of the stools that she'd occupied many times while talking to Patterson, looking around and losing herself in her own thoughts. She was so preoccupied that she didn't even hear Reade, Zapata and Patterson walk through the door of the lab, talking animatedly until they saw her sitting there, her back to them. Reade and Patterson saw her first, and Patterson put out a hand to stop Zapata, who was in the middle of an animated explanation of one of her not so finest hours, slapping her gently on the arm when Zapata failed to take the hint the first time. The three of them stood there in silence, surprised, for a few seconds before Patterson was the first one to react.

"Jane?" she said tentatively, but loud enough to rouse Jane from her thoughts. Jane turned around slowly, suddenly nervous. Her uncertainly showed on her face, but Patterson walked forward quickly and threw her arms around her friend, hugging her tightly. "I was so worried about you," Patterson told her, holding on with a vice like grip for another few seconds before releasing her. Jane tried to take a deep breath, but felt it catch in her chest, her relief at Patterson's greeting was so great.

Patterson, always the emotional one of the group, was looking at her with glassy eyes as she stepped back. "Don't you dare do that again, alright?" Her tone let Jane know that she meant business, and though Jane knew that she could take Patterson in a fight, the other woman was not one to be messed with.

Jane struggled to keep her composure, feeling herself already wavering at Patterson's emotional response, and she just barely managed to smile and nod. "Okay," she whispered. While the two had had their moment, Zapata and Reade had walked farther into the room as well, stopping a few feet back to give the two their space.

Zapata stepped forward next, giving Jane a similarly tight but less emotional hug, stepping back and echoing Patterson's sentiments, saying "Seriously Jane, I will hurt you next time you try something like that!" Jane laughed, as did the other women, and they all smiled at each other, feeling silly for the unusual outpouring of emotion at work. Reade, for his part, stood back and watched the women he worked with get all sappy, waiting until they were finished to speak.

When their laughter died down, he said, "Jane, even though it means that I'm once again outnumbered by the women on the team, I'm glad you're back safely." She smiled at him and nodded.

"Thanks," she told him. It was about as serious as she'd ever seen him in any situation when one of their lives hadn't been in danger.

For his part, Reade wasn't completely at ease with the new information about Jane, but he wasn't as suspicious as Mayfair now was of her, either. As far as he was concerned, he would continue to take in information as it presented itself and keep a watchful eye on things. That was basically part of his job description, anyway.

The team crowded around the stools where Jane had been seated, squeezing into the tight area to talk about nothing in particular. This was a rare few moments of reprieve from their never ending cycle of work.

This was how Weller and Mayfair found them when they entered the lab a little while later. Weller's debriefing had taken far less time than Jane's, since she had far fewer questions for or suspicions of him. The pair stood and watched them for a moment, until Kurt couldn't stand it anymore. He walked forward toward the group, coming to a stop behind the stool where Jane was seated. The others saw him before she did, and looked in his direction with interest. Jane was the last one to look up, and her face lit up when she saw him. He put his bandaged hand on her shoulder, pulling her ever so slightly towards him and eliciting a mixture of squeals from the two women and gasps over the state of his hand all at once.

He replied to concerns about the state of his hand, saying simply, "Yeah, that mirror never saw it coming." There was a great deal of head shaking and murmured laughter, everyone talking over each other. They were all just relieved that the ordeal was behind them.

Mayfair watched from across the room. She was glad to see her team so happy, but once again, filled with serious doubts about the future, and choices that would have to be made. They would not, however, have to be made today.

"Alright, everyone," she said during a lull in the conversation, striding across the room towards the group, "I'm sending both Weller and Jane home to get some sleep, which it's very obvious that they desperately need." Jane and Kurt both grimaced, knowing how exhausted they looked. "And the rest of you are done for the day, too. You've earned some time off. Go do whatever it was you were going to do on Christmas Day, if you can." Again, there was loud and overlapping agreement throughout the room as they gathered the few things laying around and got ready to head out after a stop in the locker room. Mayfair left the room for her office, and the rest of them headed out as well.

Their teammates did not fail to notice that Weller had grabbed Jane's hand as they left the lab and hadn't let go since then. Zapata and Reade walked behind the two down the hall, and Zapata slapped Reade with the back of her hand, hitting his chest playfully, pointing at their hands. She leaned closer to him, making a weak attempt at a private comment, whispering "That reminds me, you owe me $50! I _knew_ it wasn't gonna take til Christmas!" Reade let out a groan, shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

Jane and Kurt both turned around, Jane's face looking more pink than usual as she blushed immediately, having heard every word Zapata said. "Way to be discreet, Zapata," Weller told her, but there was laughter in his eyes, even sneaking its way into the face he was trying so hard to keep serious.

"Oh, come on, you two, you were never fooling anyone," Zapata shot back, and Jane turned back around, now _really_ embarrassed. Kurt squeezed her hand. It didn't matter, not anymore. She knew that this was good-natured teasing, the kind that happens among friends, and though she didn't like being the center of attention, and she _was_ embarrassed, she also felt happy to be a part of this little group. They were her family, after all.

By the elevators, they all exchanged tired goodbyes, acting as if they weren't going to be seeing each other the very next day. Jane drank it all in, feeling grateful to be there, to be a part of it after everything that she had put them through. They went their separate ways, Jane and Kurt riding the elevator in happy silence, her head once again resting on his shoulder, and his head leaned gently against hers as well.

It was all pretty much the best Christmas present, better than either of them could have ever thought possible, even if it was a day late.

…

They pulled up outside her safe house and Kurt parked at the curb. In a nearly exact repeat of their earlier drive, Jane had fallen asleep holding Kurt's hand, turned sideways towards him, her cheek resting against her seat. This time, he turned slightly so he didn't pull his hand out of hers, just enough to lean over the center console towards her. After whispering "Wake up," almost too quietly for it to have been possible for her to hear him, he kissed her gently, just as he had done before. He wondered if he would get the same reaction, and in a few seconds she was blinking her eyes open and smiling at him once again.

"I think I could get used to waking up that way," she told him, her voice once again very sleepy. He smiled back at her, feeling like the goofy smile might never leave his face. They got out and walked up to her front door without a word, leaving her security detail outside in their usual spot. She unlocked the door and walked in, knowing that he was going to follow her inside without her having to ask him to. It was a nice feeling.

He closed the door behind them, and she turned around to look at him, suddenly feeling too exhausted to think about what to do next. It was still morning, almost lunch time, but she felt like should could easily go to bed and sleep for days. She dropped the backpack she'd been carrying around with her since she'd slipped out in the middle of the night onto the floor, and just stood there, too tired to think about what logically came next.

"You must be starving. How about I make us something to eat?" he suggested. "I'm pretty hungry, too. Why don't you go take a shower or something. I'll bet you'll feel better." She nodded tiredly, still not moving. He closed the few steps between them and bent to kiss her on the forehead, then took her shoulders in his hands and spun her around so that she was facing the direction of the bathroom, and pushed her gently forward. "That way," he said, standing so that he could speak almost directly into her ear from over her shoulder, and giving her a gentle push to get her started walking. She felt a little weak in the knees from the whispering in her ear, and she allowed herself to look back at him over her shoulder, giving him a shy smile, then forced herself to turn around and keep walking. She was pretty sure that if she didn't, she wouldn't be able to convince herself to start again. His smile was just that mesmerizing.

Kurt went to the kitchen to investigate what food was available. He knew that Jane wasn't a cook, but he managed to find some pasta, and put a pot full of water on the stove to boil.

As he leaned against the counter, waiting for the water to heat up, he took out the wad of papers that had been burning a hole in his pocket since Mayfair had handed them back to him earlier. He'd forgotten until Jane had mentioned it early that morning that he hadn't made it all the way through her letter, and he was grateful to Mayfair for returning it. He listened for the water of the shower for a few seconds, which he heard clearly from where he stood, before unfolding the papers. Skimming through the parts that he had already read, he cringed slightly at the sentences that had made him so angry the first time he'd read them. He found where he'd left off, and continued reading. It was hard to go back into the mindset that he'd been in when he'd read it last, to read the words that Jane had written when she'd been so desperately upset.

… _Because whatever the reason, it just doesn't seem like there's a scenario where it ends with anything but her - me - being deceitful. If I picked you for a reason, planned this all out, then it's all my fault. Not only did I do this to myself... I did it to you. And Patterson. And David. And Reade and Zapata and Mayfair. And the worst part is, I don't even know why._

 _I used to want answers. Now, I would give anything to go back to the time before I had_ _ **any**_ _answers. Back to when the team could trust me. YOU could trust me. To when_ _ **I**_ _could trust_ _ **myself**_ _. Now, I wake up every day and wonder what terrible secret I'll learn about my own past, that I'll find out I'm a sleeper agent or a terrorist or something worse that I can't even imagine... That I'll suddenly remember something that triggers me, makes me snap, makes me do something that hurts the FBI. That hurts the team. That hurts YOU. I couldn't bear that. I can't watch that happen. I can't LET that happen._

 _For as long as I can remember (so, not very long) I've had no choice but to make decisions based on my gut instincts. I have nothing to compare most of my experiences to, no frame of reference beyond the small collection of memories that I've managed to make so far - most of them thanks to you. But there are some things that I don't need a frame of reference for. No matter how I may have felt about anything or anyone before, I only know how I feel about them now. I don't know why the other me sought you out and made you a pawn in her complicated game, or the star of her show, or whatever it was that she was trying to do. I accept that it WAS me, and I'll never be able to live that down... I don't expect you to be able to forgive me... I don't deserve your forgiveness._

 _But for whatever it's worth, which I know is probably nothing… I'm sorry. I would do ANYTHING to undo this, to change the fact that she - that_ _ **I**_ _\- betrayed you. I have no explanation, but I'm not making excuses._

 _However, I want you to know that whatever it is that has been between us since I woke up in Times Square, please know that_ _ **that**_ _was real. Everything I said, everything I did, I want you to know that I meant it all. And it's okay if you don't believe me, because at this point I probably wouldn't believe me either. But I've never lied to you, not knowingly anyway, and I'm not starting now._

 _As long as I'm telling you everything else, I might as well tell you - because I may never get another chance, after all - that for me, you are the only one who..._

 _I tried to think of how to finish that sentence, but no other words would come. No, really that's it. For me, you are the only one, simple as that. I don't need thirty odd years of memories or a lifetime of friends, family and acquaintances to know that._

 _It's just you. The only one._

 _And that's why, besides betraying you, the other me has broken my - her? - own heart._

 _Don't feel bad if you don't understand why all this had to happen, because I certainly don't either. I guess that can be the one thing that we can still share._

 _Yours,  
Jane_

He'd read it straight through, without having to stop and take it in in sections as he had the first time, wanting to read it, and yet wanting it over with. The pain that Jane had been feeling that night when she'd written that letter was practically bleeding from the pages, and he ached for how tortured she had been all over again. When the water boiled, he dumped the pasta in and stood there, waiting ten minutes while it cooked, still lost in thought about what he'd read. The emotion was so raw, she'd left herself so vulnerable… he was overwhelmed.

The pasta finished and he drained it, found some pasta sauce to heat up, and dished it on plates just as he heard Jane coming back from the bathroom. She looked refreshed, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants with her wet hair tucked behind her ears. Smiling at him, she surveyed the plates of food, also catching a glimpse of the papers that he'd left sitting on the counter next to the stove. He hadn't meant to leave them there, but he also hadn't felt like he needed to hide them, either. After all, she had written it to him in the first place, it wasn't exactly a secret.

He saw her glance at the letter and he picked it up, holding it up and smiling sheepishly as he put it back in his pocket. "Mayfair saved it for me. Somehow she knew that I didn't get to read the end the first time. She gave it back to me when we were at the office today." She nodded unsurely, walking towards him but then stopping on the far side of the kitchen counter. "I got to read the end this time," he said, walking towards her. He was smiling, but he noticed that she still looked nervous, like she might bolt at any moment – almost like she had when she'd appeared in front of him by the water. She was asking him a question without saying a word, afraid once again that she'd said too much.

With inches between them, he stopped. She couldn't meet his eyes, just stared straight ahead nervously. He lifted her chin gently with two fingers until her head was tilted up to look at him, her eyes following only hesitantly. "Even before I knew you, you were the only one," he told her sincerely. "That's why nothing else – no one else – ever worked. It was always you. And nothing is going to convince me otherwise. Whoever you may have been, she's not here. _You_ are. _Jane_. And _nothing_ is going to change that."

She could feel the tears in her eyes, but she was powerless to do anything to stop them. Once again, his hand went to her cheek, intercepting the few stray drops that managed to escape from her eyes. Her faced relaxed into a smile as she tried to catch her breath, caught between happiness and sadness, overwhelmed by all of it. After all, nothing else in the world mattered. Not really. Not the past or what she may or may not have done, not how Mayfair felt about her, or how people still stared at her and her tattoos, not that she had no idea what had happened in the world before a few months ago. The years that came before then didn't matter to her, anyway. Not anymore. Why should they?

 _Who would have thought,_ she wondered to herself, _that by losing everything I somehow found everything… all at the same time?_

She smiled then, because the only things that truly mattered in life were the things that she'd found without even looking.


End file.
